


The Modern Arranged Marriage

by SonicoSenpai



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types, Lamento -BEYOND THE VOID-
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angry Sex, Catboys, Clueless Rai, Cringe-inducing writing, Dubious Consent, Embarrassing Rituals, Enemies to Lovers, First Time, M/M, Magic, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Paparazzi, Reluctant Sex, Sassy Konoe, Sex Magic, Shower Sex, Social Awkwardness, Somnophilia, Tributary Agreement, Uncomfortable medical exams, Unprofessional Behavior, Unrealistic Sex, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25533265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonicoSenpai/pseuds/SonicoSenpai
Summary: Five years ago, the tiny nation of Karou found itself on the brink of war with Setsura, Sisa’s military leader. As a part of the peace talks, Karou agreed to send their crown prince as a tribute to the young ruler of Setsura. Prince Konoe has undergone five years of training to become the best Prince Consort alive.King Rai, five years older than the prince, has other ideas. He’s less than thrilled with the parliament telling him what to do—especially when they provide him a groom.This is primarily a Lamento story with the side appearances of DMMD characters.
Relationships: Konoe/Rai (Lamento)
Comments: 66
Kudos: 45





	1. Leaving All I Am Behind

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Amor Fati](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22463590) by [Munchkin47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munchkin47/pseuds/Munchkin47). 



> Because when you have writer’s block, there’s nothing better than starting (yet another) new series.
> 
> Also, it’s inspired entirely by Amor Fati, which I could not stop reading (see the link above).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Konoe makes his way to Setsura via the sea, per the ancient tradition of this tributary agreement. He has been raised as a prince in his own household and has chosen to participate in this political marriage to save his country. He worries his presence won’t please Setsura’s people, but he needn’t have worried.
> 
> Triggers: Nudity and weird, uncomfortable customs, voyeurism (but no smut in this chapter)

My arrival in Setsura is different than I imagined. Yes, I was trained for this—my place as the tribute from Karou is a diplomatic one, one that required a special sort of education and training. Growing up a prince, I’ve been taught how to handle large crowds even in the most trying situations. As a tribute, it’s my role to smooth the relations with the public. I left everything (my family, my friends, my country, and my home) behind to make this match and ensure peace between Karou and Sisa. I will not let the past five years of my life go to waste. I was trained for _this_ purpose. It’s just the crowds gathered to see my arrival are much larger than I expected. I feel slightly ill when I see them.

Because I’m male, my instructors (and I) assumed the match between me and the king of Setsura might leave something to be desired by the people of this country. I cannot, after all, bear the next heir to the kingdom. I was told to expect coldness from my new people—and I’ve been trained in public relations, taught how to keep a noble bearing even with difficult crowds. So when our ship pulls into port, I’m shocked at the reception. There are just so many cats waiting to greet me—and they look _happy_ , which is even stranger.

The dock and harbor are covered with people—lots of people—and they look different than the cats of Karou. Even from the deck of the ship, I can tell that Setsura is home to a larger race of cats, many with long fur and small, rounded ears, much unlike my own pointed ears, short fur, and small, graceful stature. The stature thing has me just a little worried. I wonder if the king himself will be as tall as the cats waiting to greet me and what that means for my future, specifically in the bedroom.

No matter. I’ve been thoroughly trained on what to expect (and specifically, how to prepare myself and please) in the marriage bed. Of course, everything that was done to me was done while respecting my virginity—because no one but the king himself has the right to take it. And I offer it freely—my person, my body, myself—as a tribute to my own country. Because I am here, Setsura and Karou will stay on friendly terms, Karou as an independent nation, as the brokered peace deal five years ago dictates.

As I stand on the deck of the now-familiar ship (after a month at sea, I know her and her crew well), I’m amazed by the gorgeous country. Karou is landlocked, and to arrive via the sea (as per the age-old tradition for tributary nations) allows a captivating view of the gorgeous harbor town of Setsura’s main port city, Josbridge. The buildings are a mix of old and modern, all extremely well maintained. Setsura’s palace overlooks Josbridge at the top of the cliff. I was expecting a smaller city—not this bustling, modern metropolis, and certainly not this enthusiastic reception.

Part of me worries that the crowds are here to throw rotten vegetables at me. I’ve been well-prepared for that too, of course. I know what to do when a crowd is unhappy with royalty. Setsura is a monarchy like Karou, but they also have a functioning parliament. I was expecting that the fans of the king would be upset to see that I’m here as prince consort and not as a beloved queen.

It certainly appears that the people are thrilled by my arrival. Maybe it makes the past few weeks worthwhile, the most uncomfortable four weeks at sea. The first week, I spent seasick in my stateroom. Not until the captain himself visited my quarters and suggested a walk on deck with fresh air did I acquire my sealegs. I’ve been well warned that I’m liable to suffer from motion sickness after I set for on solid ground and my new home.

I can’t exactly confirm that I’m happy to be here. I always thought I’d be a ruler myself—I’d planned on it, up until age thirteen. That was when my father sat me down and informed me that I would never rule Karou. Instead—to keep the peace between Karou and Setsura—my cooperation as a tribute would be required. I was to wed the next ruler of Setsura.

At first, I resisted. There was no _way_ I would sacrifice my life’s ambitions to become the property—literally—of a Setsuran king I’d never met. I was shown a portrait of him—he was five years older than me at the time, and handsome. But despite that, I’d always planned on being the heir to my kingdom. A handsome face wouldn’t sway me from my own desires and goals.

After pitching the biggest tantrum—and one of the last tantrums—of my life, I came to understand that my role as prince consort would be essential for Karou to continue its independence. We are a small country—isolated in the mountains. We depend on the surrounding countries for our living, though we have many natural resources to trade. Once Father explained the situation to my young mind, I eventually understood the benefits of submitting to the age-old tributary agreement between our countries, as baffling as the idea of arranged marriage seemed to my modern ears. It would be the only way to keep Karou on its rule, run by parliament after my father’s death, as I would no longer be the heir to the kingdom.

I was the one who had to inform Father of my change of heart. It was humiliating—even at the tender age of thirteen. I knew I would be giving up everything I’ve ever known in exchange for peace. If I didn’t, our country would be annexed after losing a bloody war with Setsura. Setsura is the military leader in these times—and has been for centuries—which explains why it would be futile for Karou to resist Setsura’s demands. The heir of the throne—my future husband—is a distant relative by marriage of the former ruler. His family comes from a long line of warriors and heroes. The current ruler’s father was the defense minister in the former king’s cabinet. That king died without an heir, leaving his kingdom to the defense minister, who in turn left it to his son. That would be King Rai, my future husband.

It was novel, as a member of the nobility for generations, to me to marry a ruler who has no royal blood—or very little, at any rate. His portrait, however, was beautiful, and I grew to love his stern face, his pale blue eyes, his long silver hair, and softly rounded ears. I imagined that King Rai's austere aura was meant to make him appear more regal, unaware that revealing his softer nature would be just as rapturous—as I’ve imagined anyway. I’ve seen full-length shots of him as well as videos online, and he has a lovely figure and bushy tail. Despite that stern gaze, he’s always gorgeous.

It helped, of course, that my tutors were hired to encourage my infatuation in every respect. Teaching me about Setsuran history, its customs, and the current ruling family (though there isn’t much there), all of it was designed to make me desire my future spouse. History calls him brave; the king himself rode into battle as a wonderful inspiration for his troops as he fought alongside them. Although, the gossip columns and the internet rumor mill make him out as somewhat of an ice queen. So I was trained specifically to melt that cold facade. 

If he doesn’t like what he sees, I will hold no power of my own in this country. And my purpose will be thwarted. For me to serve my purpose as consort, I will have to please him—in the marriage bed first, and then in fulfilling any other charitable functions and public appearances as he deems fit. It’s concerning, of course, to have so much riding on our sexual chemistry. But having a prince like me, of noble blood, to rule alongside him—even as his consort—should help his public image if nothing else.

Now, as I admire this modern city—the skyline is gorgeous, as though some master architect planned it as well as the buildings lining it—I feel overwhelmed. And why are all these crowds here to greet me, I wonder? I’m sure it’s curiosity—but to show up in person is somewhat intimidating. The crowds lining the port are larger in number than the population of my entire country!

Before I chicken out altogether and before we dock, I head below deck to my stateroom. I shake my head and freshen up in front of the mirror on the dresser. After I arrange my expression in an appropriate royal aura, I groom the plush caramel tipped white fur on my ears and tail, as well as artfully arranging my hair. After a month, my room feels like home, and I no longer complain about why they wouldn’t just let me take an airplane. Customs are important—especially tributary customs. The consort of Karou always arrives by ship. I gather my wits and practice my smile. Even as the introverted cat I am—I prefer time on my own to read or play music—I can deal with crowds. I’m confident. I can do this.

I wonder if King Rai will be there to greet me himself. It would be out of the ordinary (and outside of the custom) if he were. Part of me hopes that my future spouse is as eager to meet me as I am to meet him. It’s my understanding that I must cut all ties to Karou before I enter the city as his husband, and that ceremony is next on the schedule.

I’m dressed elegantly but not in anything over-the-top—in a slim-cut tailored navy suit and fresh blue dress shirt and a gold tie to accent my fur and my eyes, my shoes polished and shined but simple. My trousseau is carried from my room and brought to my temporary living quarters the moment we dock, but most of my personal effects have been left behind at home. Well, in _Karou_. My _old_ home. I am determined to make this marriage work and make Setsura my new home. I will do whatever I have to do to keep the peace between our countries.

There’s a knock on my door, and it’s the captain.

“Your Highness, we’ve arrived. I’m to escort you to the Palace of Exchange.”

I nod, donning my prettiest smile. I am a gorgeous cat—and I know it. I am elegant and handsome, perhaps slightly androgynous and exotic in my looks when compared to the larger cats I’ve seen at the port. But I’m _exactly_ what a king new to the throne would want in a noble spouse. I’m supposed to add culture and class to his reign. I plan to do just that.

Also, I am eager to meet my future spouse and fall in love.

It’s not unheard of. In arranged marriages, it’s common, I’ve been told, for love to blossom between two people who have never met. Even if I’m here for the sake of my country, I will give everything I have and everything I am to the king—offer every skill and smile to help him rule. While it wasn’t what I originally wanted for myself, I have been well-trained and conditioned to want it now. I know what will keep a man happy. But I don’t have to let the reality of that sink in just yet. For now, I will follow their traditions and take one day at a time.

I understand my retinue will depart—even my most treasured servants—at the Palace of Exchange. There, I will leave my old country behind and embrace the new. I will be offered two weeks of respite, in which I will learn as much as I can about my new spouse, get to know my new staff, and accustom myself to Setsura before we are officially married. I hope it won't take a full week to lose the sealegs I've struggled so much to obtain.

When I take the captain’s arm, I hold my head high and leave the ship. It’s my place and it’s my purpose, whether it was in my original plans or not. If I fail, my country’s independence is at stake.

The moment I’m led on deck by the captain, the deafening roar of the crowd nearly bowls me over. It’s a supportive crowd—much to my surprise—and I let joy shine on my face, offering a friendly wave and smile to all who have come out to see me. I know how to add to the royalty’s popularity by playing the part.

I kiss a few kittens and shake hands, smiling and blushing—much to my chagrin, those blushes are the bane of my existence—but I’m thrilled at the welcome. I had no idea how I might be received, and I planned for the worst. I’m thrilled to see how excited the kingdom is to have real royalty grace their presence, even if slightly intimidated.

“The people are thrilled, Highness,” the captain purrs softly, proud to have me on his arm.

I am met by one of the king’s trusted advisors and cousin—Duke Koujaku. He’s a handsome cat. I remember him as one of my future husband's closest confidants from his photos when he meets me at the bottom of the gangway. I’d recognize those dark handsome eyes anywhere. His hair shimmers in the sun—lush black hair and matching fur. He has the same rounded ears and long fur on his tail as the king himself, kneeling to me with an elegant flourish. I can only hope that His Majesty is as gorgeous as his cousin. But even if he isn’t, I’ve been too well-trained to let on.

“Welcome to Setsura, Prince Consort,” Koujaku purrs. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Koujaku is a duke in this court—but again, there is no royal blood in him, either. I don’t let it bother me. He is here to greet me and guide me to the next step. This is my purpose, after all.

“The crowds are thrilled to see you, sir.”

“I appreciate their warm welcome.” The words come from the bottom of my heart, and I offer another smile and a wave. It’s returned with loud cheers—almost overwhelming—and I bask in the sound for a moment. “I wasn’t sure if I would be welcomed at all,” I admit. “I planned for a cooler reception. I'm delighted.”

“Please, come this way.”

With another flourish, Koujaku leads me to a waiting limousine—and I wave once more to all these wonderful, cheerful people and cameras before sliding into the back seat. The Duke follows me and shuts the door. It’s quiet in the car, even once it gets moving.

“I hope you had a pleasant journey,” the duke says.

“It was lovely to see the ocean, though it took about a week to get used to the swell,” I confess. I peer across the seat to the tall cat across from me. His legs are long, and he stands at least ten inches above me. He is dressed in a fine suit of deep burgundy—which flatters his olive-toned complexion and reddish-brown eyes. He has a scar on the bridge of his nose, and in the low light of the car, his hair looks so dark it’s nearly blue. He is certainly handsome—breathtaking, in fact. I’m glad I’ve been exposed to so many beautiful people or I might not know how to keep from drooling all over myself.

“Our first stop, as you know, is the Palace of Exchange.”

I nod, tilting my head softly in attention. I notice those warm eyes studying me carefully—looking at my ears and watching their every movement. I work hard to keep my tail still, but it twitches despite my effort and training. I've been told my active tail gives me some personality, so I let it roam free as much as possible.

“There you will officially leave all Karou behind you, and your retinue will return home. You will become a full-fledged Setsuran, with a new staff of your own.”

“Thank you,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. After a short pause, I continue, “I hope this wasn’t a huge inconvenience. To your schedule, I mean.”

“Inconvenience? Not at all. I have to admit I was quite curious to meet you for myself. I’m sure you will please His Majesty.”

I nod confidently. I’d _better_. I’ve been trained to do just that. But I keep my thoughts pure and my innocence reflects in my expression. Koujaku softens his face.

“Prince Consort—”

“Please. If I might trouble you to call me Konoe? If it’s not too much to ask?” It feels strange—since from birth I was “Your Highness” or “Your Grace.” Prince Consort is a step down from where I was. I have been expecting it, of course. But as the heir of true royal blood, it still stings a little. So I’d prefer to avoid the awkwardness with a little benevolence through intimacy.

“Konoe? Of course. Please, call me Koujaku. I’ve never quite gotten used to the whole title thing.”

He has only been a duke for about five years, I suppose. It makes perfect sense, and I settle, a gentle smile softening my face.

“Konoe, we have been looking forward to your arrival. Rai—erm, King Rai—is a very busy man. He keeps himself occupied with the business of government. We’re glad that we were able to find him such a... capable and appropriate mate.”

While the duke’s words sound slightly derogatory—indicating the sexual nature of my position—I know to take it as a compliment. I know my role and I will play it well. Ignore any sexual implications of my title as consort. It’s been practically beaten into me.

“It’s my pleasure to be here—to be the token of peace between our countries,” I say earnestly. The idea of my body acting as the pawn of peace is a little repulsive, but I know better than to acknowledge my reservations aloud.

“Our traditions—well, as you know Setsura has not acquired a tributary spouse in many years. But we wish to follow the old traditions to the letter. To honor your royal heritage, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I hope you will find them to your liking—and that if they are unpleasant, that they will pass quickly. Our current regime does not have the long-standing noble blood that runs in your veins. I hope you will be patient with us.”

I nod politely—to acknowledge his words. I find them slightly puzzling, however. What could be unpleasant, I wonder? Instead, the short ride is quiet after those words. When we arrive, Koujaku climbs out of the car to offer me his arm, which I gladly take.

Again, hoards of cats have gathered, and I let my easy crowd-pleasing smile fall on them, turning to the photographers just so to get the most flattering photos. I know how to accent my best features, and posing for photos is one of my skills.

“They really love you,” Koujaku murmurs. It’s the astonishment in his voice that gets my attention. What’s not to love, after all? I don’t say anything like that sort, of course.

The Palace of Exchange is a modern building—automatic doors slide open and the lobby is devoid of the press.

“Please, Prince Consort,” Koujaku says. “If you would bid your retinue farewell. And please, hand off any personal items, like a cellphone.”

I sigh softly—saddened to be leaving the team of people who’ve gotten me here. I press hands and even offer a few hugs and kisses on cheeks. The captain’s eyes shine with tears as he dares to kiss my forehead. I press my phone into his hand.

“You will do well here, kitten. Your people thank you for your sacrifice.” The words are spoken softly. I know many of my countrymen consider me a sacrifice to Setsura. A worthy one, of course—if it will prevent war. I nod and smile gratefully.

“Thank you for your help.”

Straightening my back, I turn to the duke instead of watching the last of my people leave the lobby. Koujaku dips his head and offers his arm once again, leading me to what looks like a ballroom on the ground floor.

This isn’t what I expected. I suppose I expected a church for this ceremony. But a ballroom that has been done over like this isn’t completely inappropriate, either. When he pushes the doors open, it's been decked out a lot like a church.

“Prince Consort, if you would leave your clothes here.”

I look around the room—and I happen to see several observers sitting in raised box seats in the dark. I wonder if one of the observers is my future husband. Even after the training I have received, it’s been drilled into me that my body and my pleasure are reserved for the king and the king alone. I’m a little surprised to see that there is not even a bathrobe or towel to preserve my modesty, as it were. However, I need to obey the customs, and I do. While I am a bit shy to expose myself to others, I am here to follow the terms of the tributary agreement.

“I’m sorry about this, sir. I'd offer a towel or robe, but it is not allowed.”

I nod, straightening my back once more and lifting my chin proudly. I’m not ashamed of my body—I’m just not used to displaying it to people I don’t know. This entire scene feels voyeuristic to me, and I’m not sure how to handle it except to move forward. So I strip off my clothes.

I step out of my shoes and pull off my socks, leaving them in a neat little pile on the floor. I lose my jacket and tie—a little sad that I won’t be able to wear this wonderful suit again. I do wonder if there are members of the press present—but I’ve been told that media and photographers would not be allowed. At least, I don’t see any flashes. I'm confident in my looks, but that doesn't mean I'd like for my naked form to make the front page of the paper. Those curious anonymous people in the balcony feel a little stalker-ish. 

I don’t waste time and quickly unbutton my shirt, stripping it off including my pants right after. I don’t hesitate to pull off my undershirt and underwear, either—standing in the cold room with my fluffy tail covering my private parts. Otherwise, I stand straight and tall—like the prince I know I am. I refuse to be intimidated or humiliated by _any_ ritual. These are in place to protect me as much as they are to protect the king. At least, that is what I tell myself when humiliation washes over me. I try not to stare at the silent observers.

A little more hesitantly, Koujaku offers me his arm. I take it gladly, walking with my eyes straight ahead toward the large pool. It’s lit by a thousand floating candles (and while open flame is not one of my favorite things, I have to admit it’s beautiful). Koujaku does not touch the water but guides me into it via a ramp. I’m pleased to find the water warm—and it’s scented with some sort of floral-scented oil. I glide into it gratefully—glad to have the water as cover—and then lights are switched on from below, illuminating the water around me. It’s deep—just over my head at the center—and I know my naked form must be visible from the balcony seats.

My face is warm and flushed—but I pull my entire body under the water just the same. Letting the water drip down my neck and hair, soaking my fur. I am here to please this king. I know it. And that is exactly what I will do—regardless of my preferences. I find my thoughts wandering briefly to the memory of his lovely portrait. Though he had a stern expression, he is indeed beautiful. I am lucky that I’m not here to please an old man.

As carelessly as I dare, I swim across the pool—letting the water hold up my body naturally. It’s nice.

“With this symbolic baptism, Prince Konoe of Karou cuts all ties with his country. He has left his place of origin behind and braved the sea, now free to attach himself to Setsura as future Prince Consort. Please, rise from the water and take on the mantle of your Setsuran citizenship.”

Koujaku is speaking those oddly stilted memorized lines, but I do not roll my eyes or resist. I obey immediately—climbing out of the pool on the opposite side and letting a warm robe cover my dripping skin. I know my skin is beautiful, too—especially in low light like this. I am pale and hairless—save a slim line of silky fur just below my navel to my privates. Electrolysis was the preferred permanent hair removal method as a young teenager—and my tutors suggested it for many reasons. I’m grateful for it now.

The robe feels heavy—a deep crimson with ridiculously expensive ermine trim. It looks more like a royal cape than a bathrobe, and I wear it with as much pride and honor as I can muster. It’s a lot. Surely, the upstarts in the balcony will be impressed with the thoroughbred they’ve acquired, I think, trying not to bristle. My chin is lifted proudly as Koujaku turns me to face the door I entered.

I’m shocked to watch as my clothing and shoes are doused with some sort of accelerant before they are incinerated. How wasteful, I think. I don’t believe Karou has any such customs anymore. It seems a little barbaric, but I’ve been taught not to judge. I try hard not to, anyway.

“Welcome to the land of Setsura, Your Grace.”

Koujaku dips in a low bow and then drops to one knee. He kisses the back of my hand and I wave him back to his feet.

“Thank you. It’s my pleasure to be here.” I use my soft, princely voice—the one I perfected in training. I can see the duke’s ears twitch with pleasure at the sound, so I know I performed well.

The room is cold, however—and I am still damp. It’s only a minute before I can no longer hold back by shivering. Fortunately, I am led to my temporary rooms afterward—wearing nothing but the robe.


	2. Settling In and the King’s Reticence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince Consort settles in to his temporary quarters and meets his staff.
> 
> Also, a first look at the reluctant king.
> 
> Trigger warnings: Some angst, references to sex and nudity.

My temporary lodgings are the penthouse suite on the top floor of the tall Palace of Exchange. Koujaku leads me straight there after whatever odd ceremony that was. Much to my relief, considering I’m wet and shivering and dressed in nothing but this ridiculous robe, it's deserted.

“These will serve as your rooms, at least until the ceremony,” he explains. I wander to a large window—actually, the walls of the apartment are _surrounded_ by glass, offering a gorgeous 360-degree view of the city. It’s really beautiful from this height—close to 50 floors above ground, I think, but I was slightly distracted by keeping myself sane on the elevator ride. I can see the modern palace to the east of us. That is where I will be moving in just two weeks. “I hope they are up to your standards.”

I turn at the tone of the raven cat’s voice. I can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he is making fun of my royal upbringing. I answer with sincerity and honesty, to be safe.

“Karou’s palace is large, but also old and drafty. We had nothing like this sort of luxury where I come from. These are perfectly elegant. I’d like to thank His Majesty if I might.”

“Ah, well,” Koujaku replies, the hand on the back of his neck. “The king keeps a very busy schedule. Though he hopes to meet you before the ceremony, he has much to keep him occupied. He is, of course, preparing to leave for your honeymoon after the ceremony. I would be happy to pass along your thanks in the meantime.”

“Please,” I reply, turning back to look out of the glass. Still—I wonder if there is some reason the king wouldn’t take the time to meet me. I don’t know how involved the king is in ruling this country—with day-to-day tasks and so forth. I’d assumed he’d want to meet me right away, seeing as we are about to commit to each other for life and we’ve never even laid eyes on each other. But perhaps parliament needs a more hands-on approach than Karou's government does.

“You did very well—performed regally at the ceremony,” Koujaku says.

“Thank you,” I reply. Inside, I am thinking, _Of course, I did, you idiot. It’s what I’ve been trained to do_. “I was told to expect a few customs that I wouldn’t understand in advance. Though I did try to study Setsura’s ways.”

“I’m sure that will please His Majesty,” Koujaku says. He stands and watches me. For a moment, I wonder if expects me to dress in front of him.

“Has my trousseau been delivered?”

“Oh yes. We’ve delivered it to the palace.”

“To the palace?” What then, I wonder, should I wear in the meantime? Certainly, they don’t expect me to dress in this ridiculous robe or go naked.

“Yes. You’ll find some new clothing in the wardrobe here. It was custom-made for you to match your, um, stature. Unfortunately, your size doesn’t permit buying clothing off the rack. You’re probably used to custom-tailored clothing anyway.”

I shake my head. “The palace has its own tailor—and has for centuries. It’s not a problem.”

“Good. You are much smaller than most Setsurans."

"And you are much larger than most cats in Karou," I quip, keeping my voice gentle. I'm trying to let the duke know that I don't appreciate his comments about my body or stature. It does not belong to him, after all. My body and its stature has already been spoken for, by his liege, and he should understand and respect this. 

"Well, I should leave you to get washed up and dressed. Your assigned secretary should arrive soon. Hopefully, you will be fine without any attendants until then?” It's a _ridiculous_ question. Yes, I grew up a prince, but _no_ , I do not require constant supervision.

“It’s not a problem.” I rarely had a servant to myself the entire day. Only on special public occasions would I have help getting prepared. I’m quite capable of taking care of my own grooming.

"One last thing," Koujaku adds on his way to the door. "If you wouldn't mind remaining in your quarters until your secretary speaks to you, I'd be grateful."

"Of course," I say cordially. I wouldn't dream of wandering around, even in the hotel, at least, not without permission.

“Well, welcome to Setsura, Prince Consort. I wish you and the king happiness and fulfillment in your marriage.” Koujaku makes a formal bow and leaves the room. I hear the lock click behind him, making me wonder if I have been locked in the suite. It wouldn't surprise me. Though Karou doesn’t adhere to this anymore, the custom of a virgin bride or bridegroom has been around for a long time.

I sigh softly and head to the bathroom. It’s large and luxurious. I wonder if these chambers are used by other royalty or special visitors to the kingdom. I can’t imagine it would be rented out to the regular public. I don’t kid myself in thinking that they were prepared just for me. The decor is modern, but it’s not brand new.

The bath is pleasing and wonderful—much nicer than what I had in Karou, which only updated with running hot water in the past few decades. I soak for some time—washing my hair and washing off the remaining oil from the pool, then relax in the bubble bath. The soap is nice and the conditioner is even nicer. Possibly because there are so many long-haired breeds in this country, the conditioner makes my fur even softer. I could get used to this luxury. I find my mind wanders off to my future husband, and I resist the urge to stroke myself under the water. I really should at least wait till after dinner. My body has been trained well, it seems.

I’ve pulled on a pair of jeans and a black long-sleeved tee-shirt with a v-neck —and both fit perfectly. I even notice a few pairs of shoes that fit me well, but for now, I am enjoying the feel of the plush carpet between my bare toes. I am sure my measurements were passed on from Karou's tailor, and it makes me feel good that I am being so well-cared for. Once dressed and groomed, I pace in the room, back and forth, watching the sunset outside the window making the city below even lovelier, wondering when and if the king will visit.

The knock at the door startles me. I hurry to the door and open it. To my surprise, a young cat with long bright blue hair and matching fur meets me with a soft smile. He’s handsome, too—adorable, actually—and only a little taller than me. He's probably close to my age or within two years.

“Prince Consort, I’m Aoba. I’m your new secretary. I’m here to help get you settled. This is my associate Clear.” He gestures to the pale albino cat with short white hair and pink eyes standing next to him. “Clear is here as part of the communications team.”

“Do come in,” I say as graciously as possible. I don’t let on that I was getting nervous or bored, alone with nothing to do. I have been trained to be patient. I’m anxious to see more of my new home as well as the king.

“We have a long agenda to get through, I’m afraid. Would you join us?” Aoba gestures toward the couch, and I take a seat in a velvet-covered chaise across from the couch and loveseat. The other cats take a seat the moment I am seated, exchanging a glance as they watch me drape my body over the chaise.

“Prince Consort—”

“Please, Aoba. I’d rather dispense with the formalities in private if that’s all right? Please call me Konoe.”

“Of course, Your—er, Konoe,” Aoba stutters a little. He looks about twenty—within a few years of my eighteen years, and he seems kind and eager to please. “While this may be slightly unpleasant, I’d rather start with the more difficult topics to get them out of the way.”

“Please.” I tilt my head to indicate I’m listening.

“First—and I know this is going to seem extreme—it is the Setsuran custom for the tribute partner to remain in his chambers until the day of the ceremony.” There’s an uncomfortable pause, and I nod my head. So. I will be stuck here. For two weeks.

“I see,” I reply, trying hard to keep the disappointment from my voice. I've been stuck on a ship for the past month and at least this has a better view.

“I realize you could come and go as you pleased at your previous home. And I assure you, you will be able to do as you like once you are married. But the public is not to see you before the ceremony. And there are concerns with your safety. All arrangements for the ceremony and the fitting of your marriage attire will be made here.”

“I understand.”

“I feel so bad to be the one to inform you you’ll be locked up for two weeks,” Aoba says, averting his hazel eyes. “It seems it’s not a fair way to treat royalty. I am sorry.”

“It makes sense,” I explain, offering as much grace as I can in my tone. I’m disappointed, but this is not entirely unexpected. It’s an old tributary agreement. “After all, I’m here at the pleasure of the king.”

“I’m so glad you understand, Your Gr—er, Konoe,” Aoba catches himself before he calls me Your Grace. 

“Actually, it is _because_ you are here at the king’s pleasure,” Clear explains. “We are to shelter and protect you before your public debut at the ceremony.”

I nod. I was looking forward to taking in some of the sights of the city, and I let my gaze wander to the window. The city lights are on and sparkling. And yes, part of me imagined it would be my future husband to show me his city. It's hard not to be disappointed.

“After the wedding, things will be different. You’ll be allowed to leave with a security team, of course.”

“Security?” I ask, somewhat taken aback. We didn’t have security in Karou. Of course, it was a much smaller country, after all. Occasionally, royals would be hounded by press and photographers, but they were mostly well-behaved.

“Of course. They are here to keep you safe. There has been a lot of interest in your arrival.”

“Wait, does that mean I won’t be able to drive myself?”

“Sir, erm, Konoe, do you enjoy driving?” Aoba asks.

Nodding again, I open my mouth. “I really love motorcycles. I can’t see how a security team could accompany me on a bike.”

“Motorcycles? Hmm. Well, I will take your request to the king—or rather, to his secretary. I’m sure everything can be arranged after your wedding, of course. I’m also sure you’ll get offers from many Setsuran manufacturers in exchange for advertising if you’re interested.” Aoba scratches his chin. Is it really that unusual for royalty to drive or ride as they please?

“Does King Rai have a chauffeur?”

“He enjoys driving himself too and prefers a minimum-security detail. It’s happened in the past that he’s noticed officers around him and felt suffocated and those officers lost their jobs. Over the past few years, security has been much more subtle.” Aoba looks at me. “Of course, he was not born royal nor did he grow up as you did. I apologize I assumed you’d be used to having your own driver.”

“No harm done,” I say with an encouraging smile. “My parents didn’t exactly appreciate my ability to lose myself in day-long treks in the mountains.” After another pause, I bring up the reception of my arrival. “I was frankly surprised at the reception our ship received. I was delighted,” I say earnestly.

“Yes, there was a large turn-out there. And I apologize if anything there, or at the, um, Exchange Ceremony, was uncomfortable,” Aoba says, averting his eyes. His manner makes me aware that he knew exactly what took place during that ceremony. “This administration is new to all of this, of course.” He glances up at me as though to determine my degree of embarrassment. “It probably seemed barbaric, if you are used to going around without even a light security detail.”

“It was not a problem. I found it quite a relief. I was afraid I might not be welcomed in Setsura because I am not a queen.”

“Of course, sir. The public is thrilled to have you—true-blooded royalty—to assist our beloved king. He could use the PR help.”

I glance up at Aoba’s tone.

“I only mean he comes across as uncomfortable in crowds, s—Konoe. The press has called him frosty before. I’m sure your presence will warm him right up.”

“Is he really like that? Frosty?” I dare to ask the question.

“Not at all. He’s very kind once he gets to know you. He has very good and loyal friends. My boyfr—er, Duke Koujaku has been friends with Rai for many years. He assures me it’s just bad press.”

“I see.” That makes me feel a little better. I’m not sure exactly what to expect at this point. I had assumed we’d have an awkward few weeks as we got to know each other. But I have been well-prepared for this possibility. “When will I meet the king?”

“Well, um, I will have to discuss the details with his secretary,” Aoba says. “I don’t wish to dash your hopes, but it may be that King Rai will be too occupied in getting his affairs in order to depart for the honeymoon that you may not meet until the ceremony.”

“What? Really?” Try as I might, I cannot hide my disappointment.

“Oh, sir, please don’t fret or take it personally,” Aoba says, soothingly. “He just is a very busy man. We are truly looking forward to having you onboard to relieve his workload and obligations. And I promise you, we _will_ keep you occupied until the ceremony.”

“Of course,” I say, a little ashamed of letting my true feelings show. It’s untoward for me to be demanding of the king’s time—especially before we are officially wed. Once we are wed, of course, it’s to be expected that we will be able to have demands on each other’s time. But not until then.

“So, Clear is here to issue you a new phone. Clear?”

The albino cat looks at me with a warm smile. He is also attractive—and it’s slightly unnerving to see all these handsome young men around me so close to my wedding. Of course, if Rai is even _half_ as handsome as his picture, he’d be confident enough to surround himself with other cats with attractive qualities. 

Clear takes a few moments to go over my phone and social media accounts that have been set up in my name.

“Until the ceremony, we’d ask you _not_ to post on social media. Despite the tributary agreement, the king has permitted you two phone calls to Karou each week—even while you are sequestered in the tower. I'm sure you understand the use of social media.”

“Thank you. I do. I’m most grateful for your help.” Although I have been advised it would be healthier for me to move ahead—making new friendships and forming new bonds—instead of hanging onto those I left at home. I mean, the cats I left in _Karou_. _Setsura_ is my home now.

“The next two weeks may seem strange—you are literally straddling both Karou and Setsura, and the custom has been to keep you from the public eye until the day of your wedding. We will have some clothing designers visit, as well as interior designers to help with your rooms at the palace.”

“My rooms at the palace? Won’t I be sharing with the king?”

Aoba blushes at that—and he just mentioned that Koujaku is his boyfriend. I am a virgin, but I know what happens in the marriage bed, and I have had specific instructions on how to ease into a personal relationship with the king. It involves spending a _lot_ of time in bed together. With him. That won't be possible if I have a private room.

“Of course, if you wish, sir, but the king figured you might prefer your own quarters.”

“An office, from which to work, sure,” I agree. “But I believe my duty lies with the king. I will make myself at home in his rooms.”

“As you wish. I’ll let his secretary know your preference. Tomorrow, you will be visited by a physician for your general health as well as a chef to determine your food preferences...”

I continue nodding and paying as close attention as I can, despite all the details. I find myself trying not to daydream about the mysterious silver cat I'm about to marry.

* * *

_At the palace, King Rai finds himself in the training rooms. He’s running out of opponents who are willing to get their asses handed to them._

“Rai, you’ve been training for _hours_ ,” Koujaku nags. 

Of _course_ I’ve been training. I saw the unnecessary and ridiculous press in the evening's paper as well as online sources. Good grief. You’d think the consort was here to wed the _people_ and not their king.

“Don’t roll your eyes like that. They will stick and that’s not attractive. Come on, have a drink of water, at least. You’ve been at this for hours.”

I sigh heavily, walking to over to my good friend.

"I know this marriage wasn't your first choice," my dark-haired friend says. "We did what we could to see if we could get out of the agreement, but it’s iron-clad. But Setsura has already taken tributes from our other nations. It would be a grave insult to ignore the tribute from Karou and you wouldn’t be able to avoid a war."

"I know, I know," I say, running my claws through my hair and tugging at the roots. I went over that contract with a fine-toothed comb and couldn't find any way to break it without resorting to outright war. We'd win, of course. But I couldn't bring myself to throw the country into chaos (and annihilating the smaller country) just for the sake of my personal comfort.

The whole idea of sending a _person_ as a tribute is baffling. It was when I first took over as king, and now I have learned to read even the fine print of every last document that requires my signature. A lesson learned the hard way sticks the best. I just wish it didn't come at the cost of my freedom.

“So, aren’t you at least a _little_ curious?” Koujaku purrs once he hands me a fresh water bottle.

“About what?” I snap.

“About your future husband.”

“You know my feelings about this entire process. It’s fucking _barbaric_. That ridiculous Exchange Ceremony—that is unnecessarily humiliating. Why would he subject himself to something like that _willingly_? I didn’t even want to watch.”

"He's been trained to submit, Your Highness," Koujaku says, his lips curling with mischief. "The gods only know what that will do for your sex life."

I click my tongue in irritation. 

"That is _none_ of your business."

"It wouldn't be if you'd take care of pent-up stress and tension every now and then."

"Look, I'm busy. I'm the fucking _king_."

“I know you didn’t wish to witness the ceremony in person, but we do have to hold to tradition to keep your regency safe, my king.” I jerk my gaze up to look at Koujaku a little closer. He can’t keep the grin off his face. What the actual fuck?!

“I know,” I say, softening my voice. “He just didn’t ask for this, and I _certainly_ didn’t.”

"But you _did_ , in fact, ask for this," the deeper voice of my uncle rings in my ear. Bardo is a tall, tiger cat, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "You _did_ call him here. _You_ are the one who signed the tributary agreement. In his eyes, you are the reason he is here."

I sigh loudly.

"Don't be such a child," Bardo says. "He may not have wanted to be prince consort, but do not doubt that he has been well-trained for your pleasure. And gods, he's _adorable_."

“Think of it this way,” Koujaku adds. “You spend every hour of the day chained to your desk or thrashing your opponents in the training rooms. When are you going to find time to meet the perfect mate? So this solves that problem for you. And the prince consort is _perfectly_ charming. It was most unexpected.”

“Unexpected, how? Is he deformed in some way?”

Koujaku laughs.

“Not at all. Well, I noticed his tail has a slight hook at the end, but it's really endearing. He’s very sweet and compact—and his ears are abnormally large. He’s easily more gorgeous than his portrait. And he’s sweet-natured and has a lovely voice. Aoba is with him now, so I’ll have more specific updates later.”

“Or, you could just go _meet_ him,” Bardo suggests. “It wouldn’t _kill_ you to show a little enthusiasm and throw him a bone. He’s given up so much to come here.”

“He’s given it up to maintain the _peace_ between our countries. It has _nothing_ to do with me. He doesn’t _know_ me.”

“He doesn't know you _yet_. I was at the Exchange, and Koujaku isn’t being entirely truthful. The kitten is a _delicious_ little morsel. He has more confidence naked in front of strangers than any virgin (or prince) has the right to be. I bet you'll have an excellent partner in bed.”

I roll my eyes again, anger boiling beneath the surface of my skin. My fur bristles to reflect my feelings. Gods! I can't even control my emotions!

“It’s _tradition_ ,” Bardo says. “Karou prefers to keep their bloodline free of bastards. So if he had any experience at all, you will still be sure of enjoying a perfectly fresh cut of meat.”

“Could you be any more vulgar about it?” I cannot believe the words from my uncle’s mouth. I know that pervert went to the exchange just to see a naked and cute 18-year-old prince. "He's more than his body."

“Not really. It's his body he is giving up for the sake of his country. Surely, even you can see the merits of that. Plus, you’ll be _married_ ,” Koujaku reminds me as if I could forget. “There’s nothing vulgar about marital sex. Plus who knows? With the confidence he showed during the ceremony, I bet he’s been trained in all _sorts_ of interesting things. You’ll be blown away. And the gods know, you _need_ it.”

"Shut up," I hiss, but Bardo interrupts.

“You could really use an outlet for all this tension. You’re going too hard on your sparring partners and losing focus. It's bad for the country if you're strung out all the time. You’ll feel much better if you can come home to a soft, gorgeous kitten, naked and eager in your bed.”

“Really, how bad does that sound?” Koujaku asks. “In two weeks, you’ll get to fuck a virgin with the perkiest ass I have ever seen. Poor King Rai! And after your honeymoon—”

“What? What _honeymoon_?” I snarl. I certainly did _not_ agree to any sort of honeymoon. 

“It’s _tradition_ , you oaf,” Bardo says. “The Prince Consort doesn’t know our country—and our people want to see you together. It’s the best PR you could get and it won’t cost you a thing. And also why I’ve been named regent, so I can rule in your absence.”

"After your little sex trip," I interrupt Koujaku with a growl, objecting strongly to his words, "if you aren't compatible, you _never_ have to see him again. But I suspect you'll adore him. I do. I might even be a little envious. I just can't help it. And for gods' sake, I have Aoba!"

“This entire thing is _ridiculous_ ,” I growl after a short pause. I know there is no way out of this.

“Perhaps. But you’re _definitely_ getting the better end of this deal. _And_ a sweet little piece of ass,” Koujaku says—and wisely ducks as I throw my dagger in his general direction.


	3. The Medical Exam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rai goes about his day and gets an earful about his cold attitude toward the prince consort from his secretary.
> 
> Then, we flash over to the prince. He undergoes an awkward medical exam. We learn a little more about how the past few years have helped prepare him for this position.
> 
> Triggers: uncomfortable nudity and medical exam (creepy as hell) thanks to Toue. References to sex.

In my understanding of the agreement, my only chance of getting out of it lies in the prince's medical examination. If the prince consort has some sort of physical health problem—or a sexually transmitted disease—or anything that would prevent him from his “marital duties,” I will be allowed to send him home without repercussions. It's ridiculous that it's come down to this. What kind of cat am I, that I would wish an STI on a teenager?

My uncle has stated that this kitten—he is technically an adult at eighteen, but still basically a teenager—has most likely been trained in the way of a consort, and that having him at my side will be beneficial to my health and the kingdom. Because he’s of royal blood, the public will love him—no, they _already_ love him. He probably knows how to deal with all the public relations shit I can’t stand. And I have to be honest. The thought of having someone to warm my bed isn’t repulsive. It’s been a long time since my last release involving anyone except my own hands—probably since the last mating season. I just don’t like being told who and when I can fuck. And this union commits me for life.

It’s not that I _want_ his tests to be abnormal. I don’t wish illness on this poor kitten. He’s only here because it benefits his country. And that too riles me up. Why would I want to bed someone unwilling? Or only willing for the sake of peace? The entire situation is ridiculous.

But if his tests did come back abnormal, I wouldn’t be upset. I’d feel _relieved_. I’m sure there’s a part of him that would be relieved to be able to go home as well. Of course, I could visit him to find out what his wishes are in person. But I have too much work to do.

“You don’t, actually, have that much to do, sire,” my secretary says. My secretary is a young cat named Sei—ruthlessly efficient and direct, though soft-spoken. “You could easily get out of your afternoon meetings today or tomorrow to visit the prince consort. I’m sure he’d appreciate it. In fact—”

“That’s enough, Sei. I don’t want to get behind in my work.”

“In fact,” Sei boldly continues before I can protest, “my brother, his new secretary, says that he has already asked about you. You know he cannot leave his chambers. Perhaps it would serve you both to stop by or at least send him a welcome gift. Anything to let him know he is wanted.”

But he _isn’t_ wanted, I think but refrain from saying. It seems so stupid to play along with this. Sei reads my expression as though I’ve spoken the words aloud.

“Sire. He _is_ wanted. Otherwise, you would not have approved the tributary agreement in the first place, and he wouldn’t have spent the past five years training to be your consort. He is here at _your_ request.”

I look up sharply at the change of tone. Clearly, Sei believes I’m being an idiot. I sigh exasperatedly but stay seated at my desk. I treasure the staff who isn't afraid to tell me as things are or ruffle my feelings.

“I know that. I learned the hard way to read every agreement I sign—and I’m sorry he has had to suffer for my lack of attention and inexperience.”

“There is no reason to take your anger out on him, sire. He is here now, and there’s very little you can do about it. There’s no reason to dig in your heels and be so cold.”

I sigh again, unable to meet Sei’s eye. I can't stop the tirade I know I have coming to me.

“He has given up everything to be here—to be _yours_. How bad could that be for you? Sure, you may have to bed someone you don’t know, but you could change that. Get to _know_ him. He has been trained to please you, sire. Plus, Aoba says he’s adorable.”

“So I’ve heard,” I say gruffly. Fuck! What to do? I hate having anything, especially involving my personal life, dictated to me.

“I know you’re hoping that his medical tests come back abnormal, but they won’t. I saw his results before he left Karou. And he’s been trained well enough to keep himself pure while traveling here, all for _your_ sake. He has already given up so much. Why take even more? How can you even _suggest_ it?"

I huff in displeasure at his sound castigation.

“What do you suggest I do?”

“I suggest you visit him in person, _before_ the wedding. Today or tomorrow if possible.” Sei examines me with his clear, dark eyes, reading that is the _last_ thing I want to do. “If you find you absolutely cannot tear yourself away from your desk, send him a gift.”

“A gift?”

“Yes. He’s a prince. He expects to be wooed.”

“I don’t have time for romance!” I burst out, even more irritated than before.

“And that is why he is here. He knows your time constraints better than anyone. He's the son of a king. He is here so you don’t have to be troubled to find romance or woo a partner. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t appreciate a small token of your affection.”

Shit. He’s right. Like always, my stupid—no, infinitely wise—secretary is right. I consider what a prince might enjoy as a gift. Flowers? A book? Clothing? Silk pajamas? I have no clue.

“Fine. Send him something.”

“Yes, sir.”

I’m impressed that Sei finally leaves, softly closing the door behind him as he returns to his desk (I almost expected him to slam it). He didn’t ask me what I wanted to send, and I trust him to send something appropriate. Only my competent secretary could know what sort of gift would be appropriate for a full-blooded, royal prince from a backwater country like Karou!

* * *

**Konoe** :

Aoba warned me that today, my second day in seclusion, would be rough. I’m expecting a visit from a physician to give me a health exam. I just had one—many, actually—before I left Karou, and I know they received my results. It would be offensive to send a sick or ill tribute to the kingdom of Setsura, and I was taken good care of. Of course, Setsura would like its own court physician to confirm my results.

He is here now—a strange man, Dr. Toue, I think he said his name was. He is asking me to strip out of my clothes—I’m dressed in easy loungewear today, seated on the bed.

“Cover yourself with a sheet if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t know how much training you’ve had so far.”

His comments annoy me. I have, in fact, suffered many months (really, years) of training, some of which involved being comfortable nude. I wasn’t nude around many people, though I managed just fine at the Exchange Ceremony. Though this is only one medical doctor, I feel more uncomfortable in front of him alone than I did at that ceremony.

“I assume you’ll want to do bloodwork?” I ask once I’m undressed. I’m sitting up on the edge of the bed, my legs hanging off the side. I know to keep my head held high. I'm sure my demeanor will be included in his report.

“Yes, among other things. I need to assure you’re healthy enough to perform your duties with the king.” _To_ the king, to be exact, I think. Sharp eyes glare up at me, and I gaze back to the floor.

Wait a second. I’m a _prince_. I surely outrank the court physician. I won’t let him intimidate me. I raise my chin proudly.

“First, I’d like to get your height and weight.”

I nod, wondering if my clothes really add so much with weight. It seems like being nude for these basic measurements is meant to humiliate me. I won't have it. My role here is one of peace, and it's honorable.

“You’re a much smaller species that I expected.”

I nod and shrug, stepping up onto the scale he’s brought along to the appointment. Part of why this feels so strange is that there's a medical exam in my private bedroom chambers, I suppose. But I can handle it.

“Slim, too,” he comments. I am used to having others comment about my looks. It’s part of my purpose, after all. If I don’t look good, I won’t be able to keep a king entertained. Little does this doctor know the lengths at which I have been prepared for this position. I simply sigh impatiently, as he carefully measures my height.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestures toward the bed. This time, I sit down and don’t bother to cover myself. He should know just as well as anyone that my body is intended for His Majesty and His Majesty alone. Yet, he still seems surprised by my sudden lack of modesty. And he looks slightly suspicious. “You are aware that the king is, um, larger in stature than you?”

I nod, boldly staring at his face while he tests my reflexes with a soft hammer. 

“You’ve been trained for the possibility? Do you know how to prepare yourself? Do you require any, um, education or literature to prepare for your first night with His Majesty?”

What the hell does he think the last five years of my life have been, for gods’ sake?! Hosting tea parties and making seating arrangements?! I don’t say any of that, though. Instead, I plaster on my biggest smile and nod.

“I will be fine, doctor. Though I appreciate your concern. Karou wouldn’t send an ill-prepared tribute. It would be disrespectful.”

“As would sending a tribute with too _much_ experience—or _any_ sexual experience, for that matter,” the doctor replies. Ah. He is definitely suspicious of my sudden lack of modesty.

I don’t like to be reminded of my training. At thirteen, I had assumed that being with a male would be easy enough, possibly easier than being with a female. I have the same parts, after all. I know what feels good. On my fifteenth birthday, a special teacher was brought into the palace—the madam of the best brothel in town. In her heyday, she had been a popular escort. She taught me that the art of pleasing a man involved a lot more than dicks and hands.

I was trained in the arts of intercourse—without actually _having_ intercourse. In addition to specific sexual education, I was given a series of plugs to train my body, exercises to make me strong and attractive and improve my stamina, as well as specific instruction on how to perform oral sex—which was examined and graded using a variety of dildos and other props. To say the experience was humbling is an understatement.

It’s been drilled into me that while I won’t have an emotional relationship with the king at the start, I can use sex—good, honest sex—to build one quickly. It's the most important tool in my arsenal as a consort.

“It won’t take long,” the madam told me. “But you must be sure to fuck him every day.”

It sounded ridiculous to me—more like a huge inconvenience than anything either of us would find pleasurable, especially when I learned exactly what sort of preparation was required and how much time was involved. At the time, I was a young, horny teenager betrothed to a handsome young man. But even at that time, every day? It seemed unreasonable.

“Don’t worry. We will train your body for it. By the time you finish graduate my lessons, you won’t be able to sleep without at least one orgasm. It's a great motivational tool.”

Her lessons were hard and cruel—humiliating beyond anything I could have expected—but I learned well. I was eventually her best student. She even cheekily said she’d have proudly me featured in her establishment if I weren’t already spoken for.

In addition to offering (and not just offering, but _giving_ ) my body daily, I also learned to submit—which was a much harder lesson to learn than anything sexual. To throw all of myself—my emotions, my spirit—into lovemaking, opening myself up honestly in a way only royalty of Karou is able. 

The royal line of Karou has magic running in their blood. I am a Sanga—and the magic of the song that spills from my skin changes the physical act of sex into an emotional one. I practiced—but no one was allowed to practice with me. It was lonely—impossibly lonely—as though I was calling out to my other half, my partner, the one who would complete me, with my song. It frightens me—the ability to connect and show all I am inside to someone I’ve never met. But it is my function and I know I will succeed.

And my song will produce immediate results, the madam assured me. I have the ability, she said, to bring the king of the most powerful nation in the world to his knees. He will, after two weeks of hearing my song and seeing, touching, and tasting my body each day, be unable to part from me. The goal is to become indispensable to him by the end of our honeymoon.

It doesn’t matter what I feel about him—as long as I take my task seriously and remain open. Even if I'm upset or angry, I can still sing and fuck him, and he will feel my innermost thoughts. Even if he hurts me or is angry, he won’t have a choice but to feel my pain through my song. He will soften his heart—and if he doesn’t, I will discover a way to soften it enough so he can see me or change what I need to change to please him. Pleasing him is the goal of my life now. Of course, this doesn't sit well with a prince of my background. Having to submit all of myself to his whims and desires seems unfair and one-sided. But the madam showed me how this will quickly give me power, and it will deepen the intimacy between us.

Part of me is slightly concerned that he won’t be attracted to me physically—but the madam made plans for that as well. In addition to my song, I’ve been trained in striptease and erotic dance—meant for the king’s eyes alone.

None of this is the doctor’s business, of course. None of this is anyone’s business but my own, and soon also the king’s.

“Have no concerns, doctor. Karou has trained me, but I have been properly preserved for His Majesty,” I purr softly.

“You won’t mind if I take a look, then?” He motions to the bed and gives his next instructions. “Lie back on the mattress. No, bend your legs and scoot toward the edge of the bed. Knees wide apart. Yes. Like that.”

He’s got a light strapped to his head and I avert my eyes as he closely examines my privates. He handles my cock carefully—but I shudder in horror when he touches me. I’ve been examined plenty of times before—I’ve even had photos taken to “prove” whatever innocence can be proven in a male from a photo.

Since arriving, I have not been taking care to prepare my body daily and do the exercises I have been taught, so when a lubricated, gloved finger prods my entrance, I wince. He also hasn't given me any notice that he will be touching me there, and I'm surprised by his lack of professionalism.

“Hmm. If you’re wincing at a finger, you’re in for quite a surprise,” the doctor murmurs. It horrifies me. I hate being viewed as just a sex object, valuable only because of my body. I know that is part of my purpose—but it feels almost sacrificial. I try to relax and let my legs fall open to the sides, letting out a deep exhale.

“It’s just been a long trip. Of course, I’ve been taught to stretch. I’m just out of practice.”

“You are certainly untouched—at least by any cats of Setsuran decent. I do hope His Grace takes it easy on you. You look like such a fragile creature.”

I bristle my fur despite myself. I know I’m being provoked, but I can’t help it. I suppress a growl and close my eyes, ignoring the heat burning in my cheeks and ears. To my dismay, the doctor goes on.

“He isn’t known for his gentleness, you know. He was practically raised in the military.”

“I also have experience in the military,” I interrupt. During my last years in Karou—interspersed with those humiliating lessons from the madam—I spent two years in the military. It’s quite small, but it is an effective, elite force. I was trained on rifles and did well as a sharpshooter. Plus, I even got to spar with swords which turned out to be my favorite pastime. My athletic body let me learn two-handed sparring as well. I never got to practice as much as I wanted, because the madam said it wasn’t my primary purpose. I always enjoyed it, though. Part of me hopes I will be able to take up the sword once again in a few months.

“Someone your size? I can hardly believe it. Though perhaps with long-range weapons?” The doctor asks, infuriatingly.

“I did well with guns, but I prefer hand-to-hand combat and sword fighting.”

The doctor has the gall to laugh, just as he presses a cotton swab into the slit of my penis. I wince again sharply. My doctors always had the courtesy to let me know when and where they would touch! I feel like cattle because Dr. Toue doesn’t bother.

“Well, what an adorable military Karou must have. It’s why they sent you, after all. There’s no hope for your country if Setsura ever declares war.”

I sigh softly, letting my aggression out slowly.

“I wouldn’t know, doctor. I left my country behind yesterday to become a full-fledged Setsuran citizen, after all.” I keep my tone neutral and face devoid of a smirk.

“With the caveat, of course, that His Majesty fucks you. That is actually what makes your citizenship valid,” he snorts rudely while his nasty hands fondle my balls. “I’m sure you’re charming in your own way. Surely, King Rai has never laid eyes on a cat as dainty as you. Perhaps he will like that sort of thing.”

 _Fuck you_ , I think, and wisely keep my mouth shut.

Aoba was right. This is probably the most humiliating medical exam I’ve ever had. Before the doctor leaves, he collects a blood sample and hands me two separate containers.

I stand up to head to the bathroom.

“You know we require both urine and semen. I’ll wait while you, erm, finish the task.”

“Why, thank you for your patience,” I snarl softly, closing the bathroom door a little more firmly than I planned. I'm annoyed as hell.

Peeing in the cup is a lot easier than the second sample. I close my eyes and ears—humming softly to myself, letting my song shiver across my skin to drown out the noise I hear in my hotel suite. For all I know, the doctor is waiting with his ear pressed against the door. With my song soothing me, as I’ve been taught, I picture my king in my mind—that stern, handsome expression. He’s serious—he has to be serious to run a country. Still, my fantasy always swerves to a picture I have never seen—imagining what the silver cat might look like smiling at me, indulging me, indulging in me. In just a few minutes, I obtain the second sample easily.

I pull on a robe from the bathroom to cover myself, wash my hands, and bring the containers out to the main living area. I put both on the coffee table in front of him with a small flourish of my hand.

“Samples from the royal body,” I purr softly. The doctor looks a little distracted.

“Ah, thank you. And what was that sound?”

“What sound?”

“Oh, um, nothing. I guess I’d heard something about Karou royalty and a magical voice—and then I heard a pretty song.”

“You must be mistaken,” I say, crossing my arms. The song is my own private superpower, and I’m saving it for the king. “Is there anything else I can help you with? If not, please have a good day.”

“It’s been a pleasure.”

“Of course it has,” I reply, smiling my bright but fake royal smile.

“I’ll, um, be sure to let you know the results.”

“If you deem it necessary. I already know I’m perfectly healthy. Good day to you.”

I ignore the doctor as he packs up the rest of his equipment. While he is still packing, I deliberately drop my robe and cock my hip, bristling my tail while facing away from him, as I pick up my clothes from the bed. I hear a soft clatter and suppress a giggle. I knew I could make him drop something—or at least fluster him with my gorgeous body.

I do look good. I know it. I may be small, but I am well-formed. I have a slim shape and an athletic build. I have nicely developed muscles and soft curves, though perhaps my hips are a little rounder than some males, but it suits me. And I know how to use it to my advantage. When I want to, anyway.

I am probably the most erotic virgin in the country if not the planet, I’d guess. I imagine I’m a pretty good catch—despite how this doctor has treated me. I refuse to let it get to me. He won’t be able to treat me like that once I’m married.

* * *

The rest of the day goes better. Aoba arrives and goes over some arrangements for the ceremony and lets me know to expect the royal tailor tomorrow. There is a cultural dress in this country, so my wedding attire will include a custom silk kimono. I've never worn one, and the prospect thrills me.

Mid-afternoon, there's a knock on the door. It's a delivery. I eagerly open the box and find a beautiful arrangement of the biggest red roses I have ever seen. They smell wonderful and take my breath away. There's a note included. They are from His Majesty. My breath catches and my heart thumps. That's just what I need to make this day better. It's a small ray of hope for a future relationship filled with love and great sex. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.


	4. The Thing With Texting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince Consort would like the King’s cell phone number—if only to thank him for the lovely gift of flowers. We see Konoe in action and how he is easily able to get his way.
> 
> Then, we see Rai’s reaction—and all his social awkwardness.
> 
> Be prepared for a little cringe, people.

“Aoba, I’m _engaged_ to the man. He’s my fiancé. How can you possibly tell me you won’t give me his personal phone number?”

I have taken a photo of the flowers in my room, and I would very much like to send the king a text to thank him for the thought. Plus, I think it would be helpful for me to have the king's number for future use.

“Sir—Prince Consort—”

“Please, I’d prefer Konoe,” I remind him. “Don’t you work for me? Why won’t you allow me such a simple request?”

“I just, um, well. I was told to leave the communication between you up to the king to instigate.”

“I understand that. I know he is busy. And he _has_ instigated by sending me flowers. He is surely too busy with the preparations to go away for our honeymoon to meet me right away. I’m eager to see the country.”

Something odd flashes in Aoba’s eyes when I mention the honeymoon. I hone in on it like a hungry predator.

“What is it?” I insist. “Is something wrong? All I want to do is send a text! To my future _husband_.” We will be married in eleven days. I really don't think my request is unreasonable.

“Konoe, you’ve already sent him a thank-you note, using the hotel’s stationery since your private stationery isn't finished yet. Isn’t that enough?”

“Aoba, it’s important to me that he sees me as a real person, and not just some tribute like a bushel of wheat or whatever.”

“I assure you His Majesty would never see you in that light!” Again, that peculiar look crosses Aoba’s face.

“Why are you looking at me like that? As though you pity me? We haven’t even met yet, for gods’ sake! Is there something you know about him? Something you know about me? Something you are hiding from me?”

“Please, Prince Consort,” Aoba says nervously, well aware I have found out he is indeed hiding something from me.

“I have the right to know. Does he have a lover? That’s fine with me. I was told to expect it and I can handle it with grace.”

“No, that’s not it at all,” Aoba sighs. “My brother is his secretary. My boyfriend is his closest friend. I just hear things.”

“And you work for _me_! Don’t you _enjoy_ working with me? Would you rather resign me to an unhappy marriage? How could you not use all information at your disposal to assist me? I’m all _alone_ in this country—I’ve given up my home and everything I know to be here! You have no idea what I had to go through to get here!” My voice is pleading, laced with the threat of tears, and possibly a bit loaded with a guilt trip.

“I understand that. I know His Majesty does as well. He’s just... hesitant.”

“Well, give me his cell phone number so I can fix this. He doesn’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I assure you, he isn’t afraid of you.”

“What is it, then? Tell me. If you tell me, I might alleviate his fears. Or his hesitance, anyway.”

Aoba purses his lips, but I can see him coming around to my side—despite his better judgment. I know I’m cute and I not afraid to use that knowledge to help my cause. There’s nothing wrong with that! Using one’s natural talents is what everyone does.

“Aoba, I don’t want you to feel pressured. Of course, I will always be professional with you. I just also really, really want this to be a happy marriage. And it will make your job so much better if I'm happy! It’s weird and scary not to even _meet_ your future spouse before you are expected to hop right into bed.”

“Perhaps His Majesty will show you mercy on your wedding night.”

“I don’t want mercy! I want him to appreciate me—and _all_ of me—especially on our wedding night. Does he wish to be married to someone else? Has he fallen in love with someone else? I have the right to know—and I will find out eventually anyway. At least knowing for sure would give me a chance to prepare myself for disappointment.” Again, I let the sound of tears leak into my tone, looking up at Aoba with my mournful gaze.

“No! I’m sure he hasn’t. Prince Consort, His Majesty doesn’t even always take advantage of the mating season. He often spends them alone. He is much too busy to find a romantic partner or love interest.”

“He must be so lonely,” I say wistfully—and manipulatively. “I am here to ease that pressure and that loneliness.”

“And I’m sure you will melt his heart, Your Grace.”

“Please. Now you’re just pandering. If you really believed that, you’d give me a hint. Or at least his number. I will only text him my thanks and then let him take the lead.”

“My brother will _kill_ me for letting you have his number without permission.”

“Well, call your brother and ask him for permission! Hell, I don’t have any siblings myself. I understand the concept of brotherly love, but still. How can you do this to me? I have no one else in the world but you, Aoba.”

Aoba sighs.

“Fine. Just a second.”

He picks up his phone and sends a text. I hope it’s to his brother. He waits anxiously, but I hear the reply ping right away. He texts again, waits another couple seconds, and then he gets another reply. Finally, he looks at me and sighs.

“ _One_ text. The photo and a quick thank you. That is _all_.”

I smile—a genuine smile for a change. I like Aoba, and I know he will go to bat for me. I’m also very pleased I managed to convince him to do what I wanted right now. It makes me feel like at least some power here. I hand him my phone, letting him enter the king’s contact information.

“Thank you,” I say. “Do you think the king is as nervous as I am? About the wedding, I mean?”

“I’m sure he is,” Aoba says.

That makes no sense at all. King Rai is the one receiving the tribute. A virgin spouse for him to defile in any way he likes. He has every right to treat me however he thinks I deserve. I have no recourse. I only have my training to rely on to change the power differential. The fact that he is nervous makes me think he is probably a good guy at heart. I don’t spend much more time thinking about it. Instead, I choose the loveliest photo I’ve taken—the roses against the backdrop of the gorgeous late afternoon view of the city, my future home (the palace) slightly blurry in the background—and I consider what to write.

> Your Majesty, thank you so much for thinking of me. The roses are lovely! I know you are busy with preparations and work. Growing up in a royal household taught me how much work it is to run a kingdom. I look forward to helping you with what must be an overwhelming task and meeting you in person when your schedule permits.

Before I send it, I show it to Aoba.

“Is this _acceptable_?” I am unable to keep the sass out of my voice. “See? No pressure, no expectations, only eagerness and thanks. It fits my role, doesn’t it?”

“That’s fine, of course,” Aoba mumbles.

So I press send—slightly disappointed that the king doesn’t seem to have the read receipt thing working. I won’t be able to tell when he reads my message.

“Your Grace, um, I need to discuss something with you that you may find upsetting.” Aoba freely interrupts my worry.

I look up from my phone.

“Go ahead. I know you’d do anything in your power to save me from upsetting news. It must be important,” I say confidently.

“It’s just, well, Sei, my brother, the king’s secretary, has told me that there is no honeymoon on the king's schedule as of today.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that. I feel a heavy disappointment in my chest. Maybe the king really doesn’t want me. Was I perhaps too forward or too confident during the Exchange Ceremony? I’m sure I can fix it if he would only _see_ me. Still, I can’t change the dread in my heart. So I use my most diplomatic tone to hide it.

“I’m sure he’s just very busy. Perhaps they haven’t had time to schedule it?”

Aoba nods.

“I know Bardo, his uncle, was made regent just for this purpose, so the king could get away with you for a while. It’s probably just a matter of getting things coordinated with him and parliament.”

I nod, trying not to let my utter disappointment show. 

"I'm sure we will be fine. I am happy to wait until he can afford to take time off work." Surely, I can keep the king _plenty_ busy in the meantime. Maybe I can even convince him to take me away on vacation. I'm dying to spend some time seaside, actually. And I may be naive, but the idea of honeymoon sex on the beach is awfully romantic.

“Aoba, may I ask you something? I’d prefer it if you were completely honest with your answer. Just be direct and candid.”

“Anything.”

“Does the king dislike me? Have I done something to offend him?” I don’t think the latter is possible, since I know I performed well at my few public appearances so far. He wouldn't have sent for me if I thought I was unattractive, would he?

“He has not met you yet. He could not have already formed an opinion.”

“But does he prefer women? Perhaps he wishes for an heir?” Even that is a possibility for which I have been prepared. I understand the workings of threesomes (or foursomes or more), and I understand and accept that a mistress would be required and necessary if the king wishes for an heir.

Aoba shakes his head.

“I don’t believe so, sir. As I said, he hasn’t met you yet. You’re very hard to dislike—even after just speaking to you for a few minutes. Excuse me a moment.”

Aoba leans down and sends another fast text.

“I’m letting Sei know my thoughts. I really wish the king would take time out of his busy schedule to meet you. He’s going to love you.”

Of course he will. He _has_ to. If he doesn’t, I will make him love me regardless of his wishes. The alternative—being thrown out like trash after taking me on our wedding night—is too painful to contemplate.

* * *

**Rai** :

I look down at the cryptic text included with a picture of a bouquet of roses. It’s from a number I don’t recognize and it just says “Unknown Sender” in the contact information. Surely, my phone number hasn’t been compromised. That would be a nightmare!

> Who is this

I type it out but don’t press send right away. Instead, I look closely at the picture and open it up, examining it in detail. A glass vase filled with gorgeous red roses—even I know this is quite a romantic bouquet, huge and expensive. It must be two dozen stems at least. The view behind the vase seems to be overlooking the city from inside a tall building. I can even see my palace in the background.

Who the fuck would send me this? Are they thanking me for the roses, I wonder? Strange, since I don’t remember sending anyone flowers.

“Sei!” I don’t use the intercom, raising my voice and calling my secretary. I know it annoys the quiet man and it’s why he had the intercom installed. I save calling out loud for urgent situations like these. My phone number could have been compromised, after all. “Did I send someone roses?”

The door opens immediately. The severe expression in the young secretary’s face startles me a little. It makes me feel I have made a grave mistake. It doesn’t happen often, but Sei is the one cat in this kingdom who feels free to let me know when to correct my ways.

“ _Yes_ , Your Majesty,” he says, and I can tell by the use of that particular title that he is all prickled. He only addresses me so formally if he is about to accuse me of making an unthinkable social gaff. Gaff, schmaff. Social customs are for the _weak_. “You _asked_ me to send him a gift.”

“Send who a gift?”

“The _Prince Consort_ , Your Majesty. You know, your _fiancé_.” There’s that ridiculing tone again. It borders on disrespectful, but only because I know Sei so well. Another bystander would only hear respect. It’s what makes my secretary so good at his job. He can be honest with me and let me know when he thinks I'm being an idiot. I’m no idiot, but you’d never know that if you heard how he speaks to me. “You asked me to send him a gift on your behalf. He is most likely being courteous by thanking you for them.”

“Oh. I see.”

After a short pause, Sei looks at me directly. 

“He did _like_ them, didn’t he?”

“Oh, um, I think so.”

“What did he write?”

I hand over my phone—which I never would do for anyone else. But this is my secretary. I had him send my future spouse a gift, after all. I am a little surprised to see Sei’s eyebrow crook up.

“What? What’s wrong?” I ask.

“First, you are _not_ going to send that question—asking him who this is, are you.” His words come out as a statement or, if I may confess it, more like a command than a question. 

“Of course not?” I confirm. I know who it is now, after all. I may not understand why he sent me that photo, but I know it is from the prince consort. But I still don't understand why Sei continues using that tone of voice.

“Sire, he already is getting the opinion that you don’t want him here.”

That’s not actually surprising, I think, because I _don’t_ actually want him here. Why is that even something that needs to be said at this point? Before I can voice the opinion, Sei opens his mouth again, using another title derisively.

“Sire, you _do_ want him here. Let me remind you that he is only here because _you_ sent for him. No other reason except that. He does not have a choice and never has. And at this point, assuming his medical exam is normal, neither do you. You've already made your choice.”

I sigh loudly, unable to hide my exasperation. Why is it so hard for others to understand that I don't like being told where I'm to put my dick?!

“Suck it up, Your Majesty!” Sei barks at me. I’m startled by his tone—he’s never been this forward or aggressive. “You’re acting like a spoiled child because some treaty has told you what to do and who to love and who to fuck—” Good lord, he _actually_ swore! I’ve never heard Sei swear before! Wait—did I _make_ him swear? Shit, he’s going to let me have it now. “And he has probably had the best training to do it. He will most likely be the best lay you will ever have the opportunity to enjoy—and he’s cute, handsome, and he’s goddamn _royalty_. You need to put on your big boy panties and _deal_ with it.”

I’m stunned. Stunned into silence. By my own goddamn secretary. Big boy panties? What the _actual_ fuck?! I mean, yeah, he swore. But big boy panties?!

“Sire, I don’t mean to be rude or impertinent, but you are aware that my brother is his secretary?”

I nod, still unsure of what I might say to mitigate some of the anger roiling off my secretary. I'm finding myself a little irritated at this point, too. I fail to understand why _Sei_ is so upset. There isn’t anyone here dictating who he needs to bed.

“Aoba has been sharing with me how the Prince Consort is handling his seclusion. He is more than eager to meet you, and he is kind and sweet. He’s also gorgeous. And he was put through the wringer today in his hotel room—on his bed—for that damned medical exam Dr. Toue performed, which in all fairness, you could have declined. The _least_ you could do—”

I hold up a hand to interrupt him.

“I apologize. I _did_ ask you to send him a gift on my behalf. I know you are frustrated with me—and most of the staff here are frustrated at this point—and I am doing my best. I appreciate your concern and your hard work. I just have a lot going on.”

“Also, Aoba told him that you don’t have a honeymoon on the schedule.”

“I don’t have time to leave the palace for two weeks! I'll never catch up on my work!” I bark, but Sei is not cowed.

“Sire, you _do_ have the time and you set up your uncle as regent for this very purpose. I’m serious. You need to man up and do this.”

Man up?! How _dare_ he!

“Do what? Go on a honeymoon?”

“Get over whatever little hissy fit this is!”

“I’m not having a—” I’m blown away by Sei’s sudden boldness and his repeated, mistaken choice of words. I am suddenly questioning all the reasons I hired this person in the first place!

“That’s _exactly_ what it is! You get to fuck a cute virgin who has been trained to give himself to you—mind, body, and soul. He has no choice and he is being sweet and kind about it! Get off your goddamned high horse and stop acting like such an entitled prick! I _know_ you're better than this.”

I am stunned into silence once more. I suppose my secretary could _possibly_ have a point. I am upset, but maybe I don’t need to take it out on the kitten prince who is here only at the bequest of the tributary agreement _I_ so foolishly signed.

“Aoba told me the Prince Consort’s face fell when he heard there was no honeymoon planned, yet he took it with understanding and grace. You must take advantage of the tide of good feeling from the people, sire! They want to see you _happy_ , they want to see you _together_. They want to see you fall in love!”

“Sei, I appreciate what you are telling me,” I say, my voice clipped and harsh. “But I will not and cannot be told with whom and when I must fall in love!”

“Your feelings are private, sire. I understand that. But you are the _king_. Of _Setsura_. You must put your private feelings aside and accept the tribute prince with dignity and grace. Stop acting so put out for having a wonderful gift fall into your lap!”

This is just _ridiculous_. My own secretary is lecturing me!

“ _You_ are being ridiculous, sir. Don’t you dare accuse me of anything. Find something pleasant to say via text if you’re not going to meet him face-to-face. It would be foolish to not at least meet him and assuage his fears that you hate him or dislike him before the ceremony. And for gods’ sake, let me look at your text before you send it.”

 _Lest I send something entirely offensive_ , he means but doesn’t actually say. But I nod bravely and start to work on a reply that won’t make my usually level-headed, competent secretary fall into madness or flip his lid.

* * *

**Konoe:**

I receive a reply to the text I sent after Aoba has left for the day. I’ve just finished dinner and am running a bath—in which I plan to relax and finally start working over my body in preparation for the massive cock Dr. Toue so rudely reminded will soon be imposed upon me. I'm _still_ irritated by the doctor's attitude.

The text is confusing. It reads as if the king doesn’t know how to text. Or has never sent a text. Or is emotionally stunted. 

> My pleasure. I apologize my schedule has been so busy. We have our whole lives to get to know each other, after all. I pray for your kind forgiveness.

Huh. I don’t get it. It’s not rude or unkind or anything. It’s just sort of... neutral and lukewarm. I don’t like it. And now I can’t even bother Aoba about it.

Actually, I _could_. His is the only other contact in my phone, after all. I snap a screenshot and text Aoba the reply.

> I think I may have offended His Majesty with my text. Is this all right for a reply? What should I do? Am I missing something?

I immediately get a text back—and I can hear Aoba’s eye-rolling up toward the ceiling in his reply.

> Your Grace, please calm down. It’s _one_ text. Everyone’s nerves are on edge. Marriage is a big commitment. Take a bath and get some sleep. It’s been a long day.

No shit about marriage being a big commitment! But I am the one who has trained so hard to get here. I'm the one whose life has been inconvenienced and changed so much. Why the hell would the king be worried?!

> But I can’t tell if he’s upset with me! Should I text him back?
> 
> Prince Consort—Konoe—please do not send him another text. I’m afraid you will overwhelm him with your enthusiasm.

Huh. Again with the accusation of being overly enthusiastic. Isn’t that my job? Oh, wait. Perhaps the king is painfully shy? He certainly never looks anything but confident in any photo I have seen, but maybe that stern expression is hiding some shyness. The idea of that is strangely compelling and sweet. Maybe I will coax him out of his shell. 

> Are you trying to tell me to shut up? In a super-diplomatic way?
> 
> Prince Consort, it’s late. I’m trying to eat my dinner. I will discuss the king all you like tomorrow. For now, please don’t worry about it.

I look at the clock. It is late, I suppose. And I shouldn’t be harassing my staff so much during their first week serving me. Aoba is my only friend in Setsura, after all. 

> Thanks so much for your help. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

I can see when Aoba reads the message. I’m sure he’s relieved I’ve left him alone. For now, I put on some soft music and let myself slide into the bubble bath. I rub oil into my skin and take a little time to unwind before I work on my exercises and stretching. My heart still flutters every time I see those roses, though. Maybe the king loves me already? He’s just too busy and shy to say so directly?

Fuck it. I have to get this done and to bed—and soon. I really have been trained to require an orgasm before I go to sleep at night. That’s my current endeavor, and I want to keep my thoughts focused. I find it an easy task—especially when I imagine that cold façade as a cover for a shy pretty boy.


	5. Wedding Plans and Meeting the Staff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The week continues for our prince consort. He meets new people, gets fitted for his wedding attire, and charms the king’s uncle. His confidence is building as the days pass.
> 
> And wow, I guess this is technically a slow burn. It’s chapter 5 and there’s not even been a kiss!

Over the next few days, I am visited by several palace staff. I am introduced to an interior designer, who goes over the space I plan to use as my office. She—a pretty orange tabby named Mana—asks about my private chambers, and I insist (again) that I will be pleased to stay in the king’s rooms.

“Is that a problem?”

“Oh, of course not, sir,” she says, waving her hands in front of herself urgently. “I’m just making sure this is what you want. Also, I’m afraid the king won’t be keen on changing up his rooms. He prefers a minimalist approach in design. His chambers are quite... um, bare-boned. But it’s a very comfortable and practical living space. I am only worried it won’t suit what you’re accustomed to.”

“Please don’t worry about that. I’ve left Karou behind. I’m happy to make a space for myself—as long as there is room and I won’t be crowding him.”

“All right,” she says. She doesn’t elaborate but she seems a little confused. At least she is pleasant and polite about it. After she leaves, I find myself wondering if past royalty didn’t room together and if my request was really so odd. Then I wonder how difficult it would be to have sex with someone every night while not sharing chambers. I can imagine the terrible walk of shame—letting all the palace know that oh yes, the king got lucky that night. Little do they realize, their king is about to get lucky _every_ night.

Speaking of which, I have been diligent about my daily consort-training routine. In addition to stretching my body and masturbating every night, I have picked up a short work-out routine as well. I do sit-ups, push-ups, and other basic training, as well as cardio—like dancing or jumping jacks. I also watch what I eat very carefully, but I don’t really have to when I’m burning so many calories each day. I also sleep much better when I stick to my exercise routine—even locked away in the tower like Rapunzel.

Aoba spends about eight to ten hours per day with me, and I appreciate his friendship even more than his competence. He is very capable and organized. He gets nervous every time I pick up my phone, however. 

“I’m not sending the king any more texts. I promised I wouldn’t without letting you approve them first,” I say, trying to ease his nerves. “But I was wondering if you’d share the king’s secretary’s contact information with me.”

“Sei’s?” Aoba says, somewhat flustered.

“Yes. I’d like to inquire about the plans for after the wedding—our honeymoon.” It’s crossed my mind that maybe the king has not planned anything because he doesn’t know anything about me or my preferences. Perhaps if I gave his secretary a few hints, he’d be able to plan something on our behalf—or make some helpful suggestions to His Majesty.

“All right. But please don’t text him after hours unless it’s an emergency.”

I blush a little at Aoba’s request.

“Of course not. I do apologize for my panic attack the other night,” I say, somewhat sheepishly. It's not the first time I apologized for that text exchange.

“No, Konoe, it was fine. You can text me any time of day or night. I’ll always answer.” Aoba carefully lays his hand on my shoulder, as though he is afraid to touch me. I smile at him encouragingly. I’ve noticed Setsuran cats don’t tend to be quite as touchy as cats from Karou. They seem mindful of one another’s space in a way I’m not.

“Thank you, Aoba,” I murmur. “I will try to keep it to a minimum just the same. You need your time off for your boyfriend." I watch his cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink. I love the idea of the Duke and Aoba together. And I think he is slightly taken aback that I might tease him about it, and I like to surprise him. "I do appreciate your offer, though.”

Later in the week, I meet with the keeper of the Crown Jewels and his assistant. He explains that Setsuran royalty traditionally wear special robes on the occasion of marriage and other special holidays—and I get that he’s implying that the bride or tribute, in particular, wears these robes, while the king has the option to wear more modern clothing if he prefers.

“Has the king decided what he will wear yet?” I ask. I have seen pictures of these robes—beautiful, ornate hand-painted silk with long flowing sleeves called kimonos, tied at the waist with an obi. Each one I have seen looks like a work of art. I have already requested one to practice in—so I might get used to moving and dancing in the flowing sleeves while I’m waiting for the ceremony—as well as getting used to the shoes I will be required to wear. I understand I must practice before the big day since the sandal-type shoes I am required to wear have tall platform soles. It has been drilled into me to always appear composed, dignified, and regal, even if that takes extra time and preparation.

“I believe he has opted for a traditional outfit as well. His has shorter sleeves and is worn a little differently than, um, your outfit. Do you have any color preferences?”

“I’ve been told red suits me well,” I say. “But I trust your judgment. You may choose something that complements his outfit and fits the occasion. You have more experience than I do—and I’m not sure I’d be able to choose.”

The treasurer nods, unable to hide his excitement. 

“I will make a few recommendations and you may choose between them.” He sounds incredibly enthusiastic.

After measuring me, his assistant says, “You will have someone here in the morning to help you dress. These particular robes work best if you have expert help. I’ll be sure to send you something for practice as well as the shoes you will be wearing.”

“Thank you,” I say. I’m feeling excited—as well as nervous. I know the kimono will flatter me, and it's modest and regal.

“We will be providing you a selection of jewels from our vault.” The treasurer smiles at this—as though he is excited to provide the jewelry as well as my outfits. I find it endearing and I offer him an encouraging smile. He shakes his head and says, “I apologize for my enthusiasm. It’s just we haven't often had the opportunity to dress anyone else for quite a few years. I, for one, am glad you are here. We will do our best for you.”

When he leaves, I am satisfied that I have done my job and charmed the treasurer as well as his assistant. I hope he gives me a positive report to the king.

Later, an aesthetician and a hairdresser stop in for a visit and consultation. The aesthetician has scheduled the day before for a full afternoon spa treatment. He asks about any preferences I have of fragrance and again, I defer to his judgment.

“If you know if His Majesty has any preferences, please, I’d love to wear whatever he enjoys. I am sure you know your trade.”

“Thank you.” He seems relieved that I am not as picky as he expected. Likely, he hasn't worked with royalty before, and I'm glad to soothe his nerves. I have been taught to choose when to express my opinions and when to allow the staff to show me their skills.

The hairdresser tells me it’s customary to wear one’s hair pinned up while dressed in a kimono. And he also recommends adding light blonde highlights to my blonde hair for "extra dimension." We make an appointment for the morning before for the highlights and the morning of the ceremony for the updo. I’m glad to have his help.

I have—in between appointments—managed to exchange a few texts with Sei, who is as helpful and kind as his brother. I mention I would love to spend a romantic honeymoon at the beach, and I receive the following reply:

> Thank you for your thoughtful suggestions. I have started planning your trip, and it will include an extended stay at the shore. The kingdom owns private property on the coast, including a private beach, which would fit what you have in mind. It will be gorgeous this time of year as well.

Sei has planned several public relations functions during our trip, as well. 

> We want to use the opportunity to reinforce the public’s good opinion of you. Our king—as beloved as he is—is overworked and often neglects the public relations aspect of the job. I apologize on his behalf that he hasn’t been able to meet you since your arrival.

I appreciate Sei’s goodwill. Of course, I don’t blame the king for being too busy to see me, though I am still disappointed. It helps that later in the week, I meet his uncle, Bardo.

Bardo is a tall, broad tiger cat with medium-length dark hair and a beard. He is physically imposing, but I appreciate his visit just the same. He's aged well, and iI’d be thankful if those genes run in the family. When he enters the suite, he takes a knee and kisses the back of my hand. From his actions, I can tell he is experienced in dealing with royalty that isn’t related to him, and the gesture is nice and somewhat nostalgic since I’ve aimed for casual, friendship-building interactions with my staff.

He brings with him a small gift which is probably intended for our honeymoon.

“I got Rai a matching set,” he says, a soft blush on his cheeks, as he watches me unwrap the box.

It’s a gorgeous set of silk pajamas—of course, it is silk. Setsura is known for silk manufacturing—and these look like they are hand-painted.

“Thank you so much,” I say warmly, unable to stop touching the fabric. It’s such a sensual feeling—running my fingertips across the smooth silk. I’m thrilled and flattered by the thoughtful gift.

“Listen, Prince Consort—”

“Please, call me Konoe.”

“Konoe, my nephew is habitually exhausted and overworked. He is great at his job, but I cannot stress how pleased I am to have you join us. I’m sure you will be able to help—and the public loves you so much already. They are ready to experience a whirlwind romance through you both.”

He bows slightly, his hand over his heart as he says the words.

“Thank you. I will do my very best to ease His Majesty’s stress,” I say, keeping my voice soft. Regular, passionate love-making has that effect on people, I’ve been told. “I have been well-prepared for this role.”

“I’m sure you have. Have you trained as a consort for the past five years?”

I nod, being careful not to divulge the extent or type of my education. It isn’t his business, even if he is family.

“Since I was thirteen. I spent time around my father to see how he ran the kingdom. I was shown the ropes on how I might best assist. I was in charge of several charities and non-profits, public events, and guest speaking, as well as spending some time in the military.”

“Oh? How long did you serve?”

“For several years. I learned to handle weapons as well as basic troop movements and managing the supply chain. Of course, Karou’s military is nowhere near as mighty as Setsura.”

“Did you have a favorite weapon?”

“Hand-to-hand and sword fighting,” I say, somewhat wistfully.

“Really? Do you spar?” He sounds excited rather than skeptical of my skills, which pleases me greatly.

“I’m not very good, but I have been told I am a talented beginner. And I enjoy it.”

“ _Fantastic_. The king will love you. He currently spends all of his free time in the training rooms.”

That gives me an idea. Since Bardo brought up the king and how he spends his time...

“Bardo—if I might ask—I was wondering if you could tell me a little about the king.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I haven’t met him yet, and I’ve been here a week. I understand he is busy, of course. But is there, um, anything I should know?”

“Such as?”

“If he prefers women? If he has a lover? If he doesn’t want to marry me? If I am not his type?”

“I assure you, Konoe, he will _love_ you when he meets you. You’re very hard to dislike,” Bardo assures me. I’m glad to hear it, but if that is true, why hasn’t the king met me yet? “I am also sure that he has been lonely over the past few years. Having you here is a wonderful convenience—though it may take a little time for him to open up to you. He is a wonderful person when you get to know him.”

“Of course,” I say. The more I hear about him, the more I believe the king is a shy person who hides behind his position. I’m sure I will be able to cope with that. I’m somewhat relieved not to have to compete for his attention with another cat—at least for now, anyway. I understand the issue may arise in the future, of course. That treaty was signed five years ago when he was only eighteen. A lot can happen in five years. Perhaps he’s even more nervous than me.

“Thank you so much for your help, your time, and the wonderful gift,” I say, honestly grateful.

“The pleasure was all mine, Konoe. Here is my card. I’ve written my private cell phone on the back. Please, let me know if there is ever anything I can do for you. Contact me anytime. We are delighted to have you here.”

I’m feeling much better once the first week has come to a close. I only have a few more days before the ceremony. I am eager to have my new life begin.


	6. The Day Before the Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, chapter 6 and still no sex? What the hell, people? I should probably tag this as a slow burn.
> 
> We have arrived at the day before the wedding ceremony. Both the prince consort and the king are going through pre-ceremony preparations, and one is a lot more nervous than the other.
> 
> Triggers: References to sex and teasing.

The morning before the ceremony is a pleasant and productive day. The hairdresser gives me platinum highlights—which I secretly think will complement the king’s gorgeous hair, which he wears long and layered—and runs through a trial updo. I watch him place pins carefully, and I’m pleased with the finished look. It’s soft but not too feminine.

I am well aware that many believe my position as consort means I am supposed to look feminine. My body is lean but muscular. My face is pretty—and I’m relieved no one has suggested I wear makeup for the ceremony. I prefer to be myself. I am comfortable with my sexuality, even in the position of consort to the king. Realistically, I know what his expectations will be in the bedroom. He must be at least a little attracted to me, or he wouldn’t have sent for me.

The afternoon begins with a relaxing massage and total body exfoliation. I also receive a full facial and an extra moisturizing treatment, leaving my skin glowing and gorgeous, not to mention relaxed.

I have been practicing with the long sleeves of the kimono—it turns out there are videos online, which I can see with my phone, that instruct the wearer on how to keep the sleeves out of your food, how to sit, how to stand up, how to handle stairs, and what to do if you drop something. And I’m thankful for my athleticism since it’s helped me learn to walk in those tall sandals.

Since my arrival, I’ve been making efforts to watch the level of stress and tension in my body. I’ve been taught that stress can be spread to your sexual partner, so it’s important to know how to relax. Exercise helps a lot, as does my usual nighttime routine. I have been using internet photos of the king to get my fantasies going. Soon, I know, my routine will serve a purpose. I’m eager to see what sex is like with another person—and I’m eager to put my skills to the test. There’s something ingrained in me—at least, it was instilled in me since training with the madam—that makes me eager to connect sexually.

I’m worried about how the king will react to my song. I’ve heard—also from the madam—than with Karou royalty, it’s best to wait to get to know each other a little, rather than just letting my body sing the first time we have sex. But still, she mentioned if there is ever a need for me to grab his attention or the reins in an emergency—surely, my song will help. Sometimes, the song can be pulled out of me, if my body is in distress.

Sex is a great stress reliever, of course, but if I am stressed I won’t be able to relax, and the act itself will be uncomfortable or painful on my part. I know it’s my job (to put it crassly) to help the Setsuran king relax. Mostly, I cannot wait to see a soft, loved-up smile on his usually stern face. Try as I might, I cannot imagine how handsome he will be.

It’s a little weird that I cannot find a single photo of the king smiling—at least not since he’s been crowned. I wonder if he is just naturally serious—but that expression looks so severe. I hate to admit it, but it intimidates me. It might even frighten me, just a little. I hope I can make him smile. I also imagine what his face would look, covered in lust and pleasure—as well as what he’ll look like after an amazing night of hot sex. I’d be happy with either of those expressions, too. At any rate, the pictures I have are enough to get my sex drive going, and a fire ignites in my body.

Of course, part of me wonders—just a little—what on _earth_ he was thinking when he sent for me. I know his reign marks a new era for Setsura—and because he doesn’t come from royal blood, he needs to make his rule legitimate. The only way to do that is to follow through on ancient customs and traditions. Certainly, I experienced that first-hand with the humiliating ceremony at the Palace of Exchange. Still, in modern times like these, I can’t say I know of any other royal couple whose marriage was arranged. And it doesn’t happen with the regular folks, either. Our society just doesn’t do it this way anymore. The king could have redrawn the tributary agreement to include something other than an actual person. The last time Setsura took advantage of this tributary agreement was in my grandfather’s time—his sister was sent to Setsura, as I recall.

Although the longer I wait alone and impatient in the hotel room, the more I believe that Rai must be terribly busy and bogged down with work. Didn’t the duke mention he was too busy to find a lover? King Rai must live a lonely existence, and that makes me eager to help him in any way I can.

I may not have been groomed to rule, but I could easily take over some of his public functions, for example. I’m used to handling a relationship with the people, and I enjoy it—even if it is a little exhausting.

Speaking of public engagements, I have been feeling stir crazy stuck in this (luxurious and spacious) hotel suite for the past two weeks. Once, I wandered out into the hall, only to find that the door locked behind me. That put a quick stop to my exploration. I was locked out of the suite and I had to find the staff to help get me back in. It was embarrassing, yes, and then Aoba scolded me afterward. He made sure the staff wouldn’t tell anyone—which I find a little ridiculous. I mean, come _on_. It’s not like there’s a risk of somebody sexually assaulting me in the ten minutes I was wandering around the hotel, was there?

All Aoba could tell me was that we need to follow tradition.

“I’m sorry you feel stuck here—and I know you’ve been on that ship for a month—so you must be eager to get some fresh air. But really, sire, you can’t just leave.”

I wish the suite had a balcony, at least. I miss the fresh air.

So for now, I’ve been spending my days exercising, softening my body (wishing I'd brought my vibrator but thankful I didn't, since I would have probably had to hand it over during the exchange ceremony, which was humiliating enough as it was), and looking at the web—news, social media trends, gossip columns (especially about the king, though that often devolves into something else entirely), and so forth. But there is only so much time a cat can stare at the internet.

But I can handle it. Tomorrow is the beginning of my new life! I can hardly wait.

* * *

_In the training rooms at the palace..._

“Rai, Your Grace, you’ve been at this for _six hours_. You are going to utterly exhaust yourself,” Koujaku nags. He only calls me by “Your Grace” when I’ve done something that irritates him. “Plus, you put your opponent at risk if you lose concentration.”

“Don’t tell me you’re holding back,” growls my opponent. He’s a newly promoted lieutenant in the military—our ground forces—named Noiz. He’s the youngest to hold this rank at nineteen—well, aside from me, I guess, but it’s been a while. “Sire, you’re pulling your punches? What the hell?”

I sigh in exasperation.

“At least take a water break.”

“Shut up, old man,” snarls Noiz. “We’ll drink water when we’re thirsty.”

“You mind your manners,” snaps Koujaku. “I’m your superior officer.”

I’ve noticed a weird tension between the duke of the lieutenant. At first, I thought it might be a friendly rivalry, but now I wonder if Noiz holds some sort of grudge against Koujaku. Or if he might be secretly attracted to him. In any case, Noiz knows exactly how to rile my oldest friend.

Lowering my weapons, I nod to signal a break in the match. My body is exhausted—but that is my intention. Once I stop here, I have to go get some stupid beauty treatment—which pisses me off more than I can say. I growl just thinking about it. This whole production _disgusts_ me—and irritates me—and is more than a huge pain in the ass.

“What’s your problem, Rai?” Koujaku asks again, keeping his eyes on Noiz, who is guzzling a bottle of water. “Don't tell me you're nervous about tomorrow?”

“I’m not _nervous_ ,” I hiss. “I don’t _get_ nervous. This entire custom is unpalatable.”

“ _Why_ did you sign the tributary agreement, then, Rai?” Bardo asks from his place in the corner, leaning up against the wall. “You do realize that _you_ sent for him when you signed that agreement.” He doesn't say, but I can still hear, that I got myself into this ridiculous situation all on my own.

“Of course I know that. Now,” I add the last word more quietly than the first sentence.

“How bad is it, honestly?” Bardo continues, much to my annoyance. “Be reasonable. You get to make love to the sweetest little virgin in the country—and he has been trained to please you in bed. You’ll have a great time. When was the last time you had anyone else in your bed?”

“Never mind that,” I say brusquely. Only my uncle could ask me such an intrusive question and actually expect an answer. I suspect he already knows that it’s been years. “It feels like I’m being told who and when I can take to bed. And that whole... bedding ceremony is absolutely _ridiculous_.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just because you lack experience with virgins?” Koujaku teases. Normally, I find about 25% of his antics amusing. Unfortunately, this is not one of those times. “Don’t worry about that part. He’s had _training_. He will already be _prepared_. And he’s _adorable_.”

“Don’t waste this opportunity, kid,” Bardo says. “If you do something offensive, you put our countries at risk for war. So don’t insult him.”

“You won’t be _able_ to insult him,” Koujaku continues loudly. “Not once you see him all soft and naked, pliable and eager, in your bed.”

“Goddamn it, just shut up,” I snap.

“What? Is he _really_ that good looking?” Noiz asks, letting his youth show. “Like, how does he compare to, I don’t know, say, _Aoba_?”

“Shut your mouth,” growls Koujaku. “Aoba is _mine_. We’ve been through this before.”

Noiz grins at Koujaku in response. “We could share him.”

“Fuck you,” Koujaku snaps.

“Shut up, both of you,” Bardo says impatiently. “Rai, you’re already late for your spa appointment.”

“What the fuck,” I murmur again. “Is there something wrong with how I look?”

“Not at all, except for all that sweat dripping off you. And you’ll enjoy a massage, I’m sure. The gods know you need to chill out,” Bardo replies. “You know, you wouldn’t be so nervous if you’d bothered to take an hour out of your schedule to meet the consort before now. Once you meet him, you’ll see there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried. I’m annoyed,” I huff in irritation. But even I know that’s a little bit of a lie.

“Is there something that really worries you, Rai?” Koujaku asks. “You do seem pretty spun up. I mean, there’s nothing to it. You dress up, repeat the vows, have a nice dinner, dance with your new cute prince, and then take him to bed till he screams in pleasure. You’ll have a nice night either way. The prince may not, but he knows what to expect. If you don’t enjoy yourself—and why you _wouldn’t_ is completely beyond me—you never have to see him again. If you do, well, you'll never worry about the lack of a partner.”

“You’ll _want_ to see him again, though,” Bardo interrupts. “He’s an asset. He’s good with the public. He grew up royalty and understands his relationship to the people. Plus he’s charming.”

“Well, _you_ marry him then,” I snap.

“I would in a heartbeat,” Bardo growls right back at me, “but it would be an insult to his country if I did. What the _hell_ is your problem?”

“Is it odd that I don’t like being told to rut like a dog? I don’t belong to anyone—and my private life is just that, _private_.” There. I’ve admitted it.

“But sire,” Bardo replies, “you _do_ belong to your people. And they expect you to act the part of the gracious king every once in a while.”

I sigh. I know it’s too late. And honestly, I have worn myself out completely with this tantrum. That is what I’m doing. I need to admit it and knock it off. I’m not a child. I’m not even the one who had to give up his entire _identity_ —his culture, his home, his freedom—to come here. I just wish I’d read the damned agreement before signing it.

“You’re getting to the point that having someone warming your bed will be good for you,” Koujaku says, his voice soft. “He’ll be a great stress-reliever.”

“Just stop,” I say. I’m sick and tired of hearing these guys talk about my future husband in this way—even if it is the truth. It just feels objectifying and wrong.

“He’s known about this for five years and he’s crazy about you,” Bardo says.

“He doesn’t even _know_ me,” I snap.

“He wants to. And you should give him a chance.”

Noiz snorts suddenly—and I jerk my chin up to look at him. He has an unpleasant and nasty grin on his face.

“What.” I don’t raise it a question. “What’s up with you.”

“Could it be, Your Majesty,” and I bristle at the brat’s use of that particular title, “that you just have never been nervous about anything before? Fucking a virgin isn’t that different than a physical spar, after all. The only difference is the blood on the sacred sheet of consummation.”

 _Fuck this_ , I think. _Fuck_ all _of this_. I’ll be damned if I let any custom tell me when to bed anyone. For now, I grab my weapons and stalk toward my chambers. I know my spa treatment will be waiting for me there. I could use some relaxation without any unnecessary conversation.

I happen to peek down at my phone. I haven’t received any additional texts from the prince consort, and I wonder if he is doing all right. I am assaulted with guilt—if the prince has had all that training for my sake (and he’s given up everything), I need to make sure I don’t take my anger out on him. It’s not his fault. _None_ of this is his fault. The blame lies directly and heavily on my shoulders. I’m just not used to feelings of regret, and the shame is hard to bear.


	7. The Wedding Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding day is here. Konoe prepares for the day and has help getting dressed. Rai has help that goes mostly unappreciated.
> 
> Triggers: Mild references to sex and bodily appearance. And Rai has a really horrible attitude.

The day has finally arrived.

I’ve been in this country for two weeks and I still haven’t quite got my bearings. I was certain I would meet my groom before today—but I’ve only met some of his retainers.

It’s been a private disappointment—as I have been trained for the last five years of my life to be a good tribute to the king of Setsura. It feels like a wasted effort on my part. However, his retainers have been kind, and my new staff welcoming. For now, I’ll assume he was just too busy.

I spent the morning soaking in the tub—my skin softened with scented bath oil. The oil has hints of orange blossom and jasmine, as well as sweet vanilla and white musk, and the fragrance lingers without being overpowering. I spend a little extra time by myself, stretching out the muscles I know will get some use this evening. I have been told I will have about a half an hour to prepare my body before the consummation, and that is assuring. I’m eager but also nervous. I haven't even met my fiancé, after all.

Later, I am groomed and dressed by the hairdresser and two assistants from the treasury whose specialty is this particular style of attire. It takes both of them to fold the kimono just right. And then, there’s the obi.

The kimono is several layers and it’s worn with no underwear, which I find slightly unnerving. I’ve been told that it’s best to go without since I won't want any obvious lines underneath the soft fabric. Once everything is in place, however, there is so much fabric I don’t think anyone will notice any activity going on beneath. The underlayer is a primarily bright red—sheer silk with a subtle pattern, a little pink and white accenting the sleeves. The formal kimono is a sky-blue print, sleeves sweeping above my ankles, a gentle white and pink wave pattern painted along the hem. There are hints of navy blue and bright red as well—and it compliments the red underlayer perfectly. It almost looks like the waves ripple when I move, along with flashing a little bit of red and pink at the sleeves, and it’s very flattering. The obi is mostly bright red, with hints of pink, white, orange, and navy blue in an abstract pattern. The placement narrows my waist and lengthens my thighs and legs. But holy crap, it’s painful to be wrapped into it so tightly.

It takes both assistants to pull the obi tight around my waist, cinching me in like an old-fashioned corset. The long ends are tied into an artful bow that rests just above my ass and makes my ass look even rounder than it is.

Even with this softer fabric, and how my hips are accented, I still manage to pull off an androgynous, rather than feminine look. With my hair pinned up and to the side, jeweled hairpins are poked into the tight up-do, leaving shimmering platinum and gold leaves to tinkle next to my face. Additionally, a silky red rope is wound around the base of my tail. There are golden bells attached at the end, so I jingle with every step.

I’m given a pair of white socks with a separated toe (they are called tabi) and then my feet are slipped into the high sandals I’ve been practicing in all week. The straps are red and set off the outfit perfectly.

When I see my reflection in the mirror, I’m pleased. My hair and fur are brushed and shined, and the outfit couldn’t be more flattering. I look like foreign royalty—or maybe even some ancient god. I appear alluring and sexy, but still quite modest. It’s an interesting look, and I have decided I will wear these kimonos whenever I have a chance. They suit me, and I’m very pleased. It takes a moment to get used to the jingling bells and jewelry, but I’ve been dressed in outfits much more uncomfortable than this. I’m shocked at how well it breathes, too.

I’m sure I will please the king, so I give my assistants a grateful smile.

“You look perfect, Your Grace,” one of the assistants says. I got their names earlier and while I’m usually much better at retaining names, I cannot remember either of them for my nerves.

“Thank you,” I say shyly. “I appreciate your help.”

“His Majesty will adore you,” says the other. “We are all so glad to have you here, Your Grace. It’s our opinion that he has been alone for much too long.”

I nod, and then the hairdresser adds a few more final touches to my look and gives me a small box.

“Tuck this into your obi, like so,” he says.

“What is it?” I ask, stopping his hand.

“Oh—it’s the ring.”

Before I tuck it away, I open it up. It’s an elegant and sleek wedding band, platinum and titanium with a slim gold stripe. It’s lovely, I think.

“From the treasury, Your Grace.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s been in the royal family for some time, I believe. Yours is a matching one, sized appropriately.”

Of course it is. I’m pleased, though. I’m not overly fond of heavy or bulky jewelry.

There’s a brisk knock at the door and Aoba pokes his head in (he has his own key, after all).

“Are you ready, Your Grace?” He lets out a small gasp when he sees me. “My gods, you look stunning!” Aoba is dressed in a tuxedo, classy and handsome. I’m pleased to see him looking so well since he will be standing up with me at the ceremony.

There are two large cats, wearing dark suits and sunglasses indoors, accompanying Aoba today. They must be bodyguards. Nothing subtle about them, of course. I smile at each, and both flinch slightly in surprise. I’ve seen this look a lot. I wonder if the people of this country expect me to be a shy virgin, afraid of his own shadow. I won’t deny I grew up as a pampered prince, but I know how to behave confidently in public.

“Shall we?” I ask.

“Please,” I say. Aoba gives me extra space—as do both guards—as we head out of the room and to the elevator. The first time since my arrival, I think—and then, no. I remember my brief escape attempt. I just wanted to feel the outside breeze on my face. The lobby of the hotel is lined with more suited guards with earpieces in their ears. When I make eye contact, I get a lot of flinching and also a softening of features. Maybe they didn’t expect I’d be attractive? Or I wouldn’t deign to greet them?

I stop at the front desk and ask if the manager is available. The cat behind the counter nods nervously, picking up the phone and making a softer whisper. Within seconds, a tall, slim cat appears, wiping his brow even in the air conditioning.

“Your Grace—how may I help you?”

“Oh, I just wanted to thank you and your staff for putting up with me these past two weeks. Your establishment is truly lovely.”

“Oh, Your Grace—I hardly know what to say,” he gushes. “It was our pleasure to have you, of course.”

I’m sure it was since my suite is most likely booked for the rest of the year. It’s common for people to want to stay where I have stayed. It’s as if my body has the Midas’ touch. Little do they realize—how many ways is that is true as a tributary spouse.

Aoba reminds me gently we have a schedule to keep, and I offer my farewells. Once we head outside, I’m surprised by the loud cheers that fill my ears. A crowd has gathered to watch the procession to the church. I wave and smile, offering princely blessings as I’ve been taught, sucking in my nerves as I do so. We head to the waiting limousine and I climb in, careful not to muss my outfit.

“You really do look stunning, Konoe,” Aoba murmurs, checking his phone and my schedule.

“Thanks,” I smile. I’m relieved to hear him calling me by my name instead of “Your Grace” while we are in private.

Lending Aoba half an ear as he goes over the detailed schedule for the day, which he has done several times before today, I watch the scenery as we drive through the port town and head to the church. It’s an older building—and it’s built in the same style as the castle on the hill. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and I keep checking my reflection. I will be meeting my husband for the first time at the altar.

Part of my heart throbs with pain—as if a rose’s thorn has hooked me—whenever I think of the silver king. I was so hoping he’d be as eager to meet me as I have been to meet him. My pride is a little wounded that he didn’t visit but for now, I choose to believe it’s because of his work. I will have him to myself for the next week, at least. It may not be the full two weeks I was expecting—but I’m sure I will make myself essential within that time. Surely, I should know him well enough by then to share my song with him.

Despite my wounded pride, the fact that I have not yet met Rai has done nothing to temper my sexual expectations. My body responds instantly after only a single thought of his elfin face, his small rounded ears, that icy blue eye, the long hair. Even now, my body is heating up, and I’m thankful for all the layers of my kimono. It’s much less obvious than a slim-fitting tuxedo would be, I think.

I am doing deep-breath meditative exercises by the time the limo pulls up to the church. I’m not at all nervous about the people—though I’m amazed by the throngs of them, how many cats have gathered, and how different they are from Karou cats. I shake my head briefly—jingling a little as I do—and then take a deep breath. Aoba gets out first, as planned—and the bodyguards are already in place. I wait patiently for Aoba to open the door.

Planting my shoes on the ground comes as a relief—and I take in another deep gulp of fresh air while I wave to the people. I can’t hear anything—not even my heart pounding in my ears—over the sound of their cheers.

“Prince Consort! Prince Consort!” Flashes pop in my face, and I keep my expression pleasant and smiling, waving as I have been taught. Performing for a crowd forces my nerves to back off, and I am led into the church—which is much quieter than outside. It’s a large building with tall doors that lead into the sanctuary. Two armed soldiers in dress uniform (a rather handsome uniform, I notice) open the doors, and my arrival is announced by the change in tune. There’s an organ playing a traditional wedding march as Aoba takes my arm. As we discussed, he will be leading me down the aisle. His arm is shaking where my fingers are touching him, and I lean in close for a moment.

“You look great and you’re doing fine,” I whisper. He offers a shy smile and straightens his back. And then I get a look at the attendance. The sanctuary is large enough to seat about 800 cats. I wonder what these cats had to do to warrant an invitation to what seems to be the event of the year. Of course, everyone climbs to their feet as I walk by—and again, I’m struck with the height of every cat around me, feeling rather delicate in comparison.

I say _delicate_ —not small—because I don’t feel small. I feel like I am on top of the world. Colored light streams through the stained glass windows like a spotlight—and this is the perfect timing, I think. And that’s when I realize my future husband is waiting for me at the altar, so I lift my chin to meet his gaze.

My first impression of the king, at least from far away, is that he is _breathlessly_ handsome. His photos—yes, those photos I have been jerking off to for the past five years—have not done him justice. He may be new to royalty, but he knows how to hold himself. He is dressed in a navy blue kimono, patterned in a similar ocean pattern to mine, accented with pale blue, silver, black, and white. The obi is slimmer than mine and tied lower on his hips, understated and elegant textured silver silk. The collar that peeks through from beneath the blue robe is shimmering white—and it accents his pale skin and gorgeous hair, which is thick and luxurious and glimmering like a gemstone. He doesn’t have his hair pinned up, but off to the side in a low ponytail. It hangs over his right shoulder nearly reaching his hip, glittering in the sunlight like jewels. He has an understated silver circlet woven through his hair that rests on his head—platinum or silver. It suits him perfectly. I see a large ring on his right hand—glistening with a giant blue sapphire. And he is armed, weapons sheathed in black leather. I see a (monstrous) longsword at his right side and a dagger at his left.

I had no idea he’d be this gorgeous. And my heart lifts—until I near him. His face is set in a solemn, serious expression—though I'm sure I saw a flash of surprise when he first met my direct gaze. And while I hope my gentle, welcoming smile will soften them, his lips purse in a near frown. It’s like he’s sulking.

 _Sulking_? On his wedding day? I don’t understand. But I’m in public and so I keep the same, welcoming smile plastered on my face as I walk down the aisle toward my new life and my new mysterious husband and my new country.

* * *

 ** _Rai_** :

This morning was an absolute production and a pain in my ass. I am frankly relieved by the time we head to the church. I have been snapping at assistants for doing their jobs, making them cower as I pass, ignoring advice from my uncle and my best man.

My _best man_. Shit. I’m about to get _married_.

“Lighten up,” Koujaku says—again and again. It’s getting old. “I know this isn’t your first choice, but hell, it will save you a lot of hassle in the long haul. I mean, all the benefits of dating and wooing without any of the work! Plus, wars are expensive in more ways than one, man.”

“This is a perfect opportunity to remind you that wars _are_ expensive,” Bardo says. He typically uses one of two tones when addressing me: critical of everything or half-assed like he doesn’t care. This is definitely the former. “Don’t do anything insulting.”

Like I would _do_ that. After all this, as if I would _risk_ it.

“And for gods’ sake, smile,” Koujaku says.

_Not likely._

I bite the inside of my cheek repeatedly to keep quiet. By this point in the afternoon, I am tasting blood. I take a deep breath to center myself, wishing I could go to the training center and work off some steam. But I’ve already been there—earlier this morning.

“You look good,” Koujaku says. I glare at him as we wait for the car to the church. I don’t need him to tell me that. So he averts his gaze, and I hope he’s finished for now. He isn't. “I can’t _wait_ to see the prince consort. I’ve heard he looks _great_ in a kimono.”

If my eye could burn a hole through Koujaku’s fancy tuxedo, it would do just that. I stand there, half-expecting smoke to rise from his shoulder.

The car arrives—and I climb in wordlessly, unable to avoid my fate. The car is driving me to my figurative execution. Koujaku is still chattering his usual conversational nonsense. My uncle is glaring at me, accusing me of being cruel to my fiancé. _Ridiculous_. I can’t be cruel to someone I’ve never even _met_.

When we are dropped off in front of the church, the crowds gathered cheer loud enough to hurt my ears. Large crowds have always bothered me, but throngs of gawkers come with the job. I walk in without pandering to the cameras like I always do, and I am met by the event coordinator—he works in PR as well, is nagging me all the time—why can’t I think of his name?

“Your weapons, Your Highness,” the albino cat says.

“What about them,” I snap—not as a question, either.

“Leave them,” Bardo says. “It’s fine. It’s part of ancient dress uniform anyway.”

“It’s just—he looks so intimidating when he’s armed.” _Clear_. That’s his name.

“It’s fine,” Koujaku assures. “He’s the king after all. He’s supposed to look intimidating.”

“But the prince consort—he’s so small and delicate—”

“He’s not some dainty flower,” Bardo says. “He’ll be _fine_. He’s been trained for situations like these. But damn it, Rai, would it kill you to smile?”

I don’t answer his question. Everything is grating on my nerves. Finally, we are led into the sanctuary. I’m thankful I don’t have to parade down the aisle for all the spectators to drool over. I stand in parade rest while I wait for the precious prince consort, shifting the box with his wedding band inside against my chest.

His car is right on time. The crowd yells and shouts when he arrives, perhaps even louder than they did for me. Within a few short minutes, I get my first real-life glimpse of the creature who will be invading my house and home.

He’s unexpectedly _pretty_. And very small and cute. And yet—he bristles with a strange power as he is guided down the aisle by Aoba.

I struggle to compose my face into a neutral expression—recovering from the surprise of his allure. And how easily he fits this scene. I feel like I don’t belong here—an intruder in my own kingdom. And this creature flits down the aisle like some sort of nymph, like he was born to be here, born to do this, born to chain himself to me for the rest of his life. What a fool.

I watch him walk—he sways his hips, clad in gorgeous silk, more than any teenager ought to. As he approaches the front of the church, he glances up at me again—this time only a few feet away. I peer down at his face—a cherub—he looks like an angel. He still carries the same welcoming smile—and it looks like he’s happy to be here, pleased to see me.

“Hello,” he says softly—almost too soft to hear. It’s spoken so low I’m surprised I hear it, but his voice is enchanting. His lips are full and curled up in a smile. His golden eyes are framed with long, dark lashes—and even his eyes smile. It makes him look so utterly innocent and utterly genuine—and yet still perfectly alluring.

His hair is longer than I remember from his portrait. It’s pinned up and styled to the side, displaying a long neck, and glitters gold in the soft sun. His fur is strangely short but plush—pearly white tipped with gold that matches his hair. Every step he takes makes a soft, enticing jingle. I realize soon that he must be wearing those ridiculous bells on his tail.

How the _hell_ did it come to this? It’s like looking at a sacrificial lamb who actually _wants_ to be here. It’s utterly incongruous and disturbing.

Why _disturbing_? Yes, I’m _annoyed_ by being told what to do, perhaps even angry that it was my careless action that got me to this place. But disturbing because before me stands an idyllic, enchanting creature, shimmering with hope—and I’m sure to disappoint him. That cat—no, _kitten_ , he’s only eighteen—at the bottom of the stairs has been sacrificed to me for the sake of peace.

He’s much braver than I am. And that pisses me off.

When he walks up the steps, he keeps his eyes on me, soft smile shifting ever so slightly—maybe revealing just a little nervous tension underneath. Part of me wants to shout at him to _leave_ , to escape while he still can. Why would any person of his pedigree choose to commit themselves to a violent upstart?

And why does he look _happy_ to be here?

“Your Majesty,” he says, voice trickling down the length of my spine and making my fur bristle. “I’m Konoe, formerly of Karou. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He sweeps a formal bow—obviously practiced to the point it comes naturally—grace flowing from his movement reminiscent of swordplay. What has this child had to suffer because of my carelessness?

I can’t think about it again. I don’t _want_ to think about it again. But then his eyes look up at me, waiting for me to respond.

“Welcome to Setsura, Prince Consort,” I say, my voice husky. “The pleasure is mine.”

I reach out a hand to take his—warm and small and soft—and am shocked by the strength behind the squeeze. It’s an intimate squeeze—communicating in a second that he is easily as nervous as I am. I don’t appreciate the liberty. But I help him to dais just the same and take his other hand in mine as he turns to face me. I’m following the script.

The officiant drones on and on about the importance of peace between nations and the cost of war. I make a mental note to be sure to review all sermons for any future ceremonies that require my participation. Still, I find my gaze resting on the kitten before me.

This? This is the prince of Karou? He is perfectly compact—his fur bristled slightly, his pupils dilated—which sends a weird sort of arousal to my groin. The light is much too bright to warrant such dark eyes. Is he frightened? His hands are dry—no sweating at all—and I detect no tremble in his fingers. So perhaps his eyes and fur indicate arousal and attraction. His face shifts with secret emotion, hidden behind the perfect, royal mask of a gorgeous smile.

He’s enchanting, I think. _Damn it_. Karou sent a kitten to _enchant_ me. They hope to gain control by sliding someone this tempting, this enticing, into my bed. The thought sends another rush of heat to my groin. He must sense it—or else my eye dilates in response—as he squeezes my fingers again. My fangs push past my lips and the very edges of his peek out as well.

What the hell is this creature? My heart thumps loudly in my ears and I wonder what to do with myself—how I will protect myself from being caught in the web of his allure. I _never_ feel like prey—I am always the _hunter_ , always the _predator_ —and I cannot ever remember feeling this helpless.

“Your Majesty?” The officiant asks, interrupting my thoughts and confusion.

"Of course," I murmur, slightly surprised at the interruption. I pull out the ring from my kimono, taking it out of the box and slipping it on that dainty little finger. I wait patiently while the kitten does the same.

The officiant drones on while I glance between our matching wedding bands and the prince's lovely eyes. _Shit_. I'm in deep shit if I end up falling for him. I can't leave myself open and I'm taken by _complete_ surprise.

“I do,” I say—thankful to be able to remember my lines during the next deliberate pause from the officiant. Perhaps I should pay attention to the actual vows.

“Do you, Prince Consort Konoe, promise to love, cherish, and obey your husband, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” he purrs—but his voice carries so well it echoes throughout the church. Good gods, he just promised to obey me in front of an entire nation! I am filled with both horror and a sadistic fantasy of what that obedience might look like.

“Have you come to this ceremony of your own free will, without coercion, to leave behind your home and adopt this country as your own?”

“I do,” he repeats, still smiling up at me. Even in those ridiculous platforms, he stands about a head shorter than me. He’s slight—and I wonder what sort of body hides behind the silk. His movements and walk have been so controlled—I imagine firm, defined muscles and a lot of smooth, creamy skin. I push the distracting thought away immediately.

“I now pronounce you husband and consort,” the officiant says.

The kitten doesn’t even blink at those words, at the distinction in power between us—an insurmountable gap of power between what he used to be in Karou and who he has become in Setsura. He just smiles a little wider, flashing more tiny, sharp fangs in such a seductive fashion I feel slightly nauseous.

When was the last time another cat warmed my bed? It’s been years—three years, at least. And in a few hours, I’ll be able to see and take advantage of this small body that no one else has touched. Hmm. Maybe this isn't _all_ bad.

“You may now kiss your consort,” the officiant states. _My_ consort, indeed.

Wasting no time, I lean in and move one of my hands to the prince’s long, elegant neck. His skin is even softer than it looks, and I inhale a breath of soft flowers and musk. He smells equally enticing. He tips his chin up toward me, a gorgeous blush blossoming in his cheeks, as his eyelashes flutter. He hasn’t quite closed his eyes—almost as if he might be frightened or perhaps this is his first kiss. But he willingly accepts it—pressing soft lips into mine and relaxing his jaw. His slender tongue playfully swipes out against mine, taking me by surprise considering his submissive appearance. It doesn’t displease me at all. In fact, I have a hard time remembering when I last shared a kiss quite this sweet.

The congregation’s cheers and applause erupt around us, and I remember to pull away from my new husband. _My new husband_. That’s right. I’m not _about_ to forget that piece of paper that is dictating my next actions—where I put my dick and where I rest my heart.

That kiss might have been the sweetest in the world—and the prince certainly knows how to put on a show of eagerness. But I’ll be damned if I let a piece of paper tell me what to do, when, with whom, and how often.

I center myself and offer my arm, leading him down the steps and the aisle—out to a waiting car. He walks slowly—his legs are long for his stature but he is smaller than me. He also takes time to smile and wave at the vultures waiting outside. He’s actual _royalty_ , after all. The crowd loves him.

I open the car door for him and he climbs in, careful not to ruffle his kimono. His tail— _gods_ —his tail is covered in short, plush fur, white except for the caramel-colored tip that is slightly hooked. Captivating as _fuck_ , I think. And when I see the little bells hanging down below his tail—and the smooth, rounded curve of his ass—I swallow down those animalistic feelings roiling in my gut.

Instead, I get in the car without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This chapter was terribly fun to write. But I can hardly wait for the next one. Also—Rai isn’t happy about the marriage, but he can’t deny his intrigue. We will see how it goes!


	8. The Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The afternoon continues with a lavish reception from King Rai’s perspective, who probably won’t admit he isn’t on his best behavior.

I fucking hate parties.

Every state celebration is a waste of money, a parade of fancy outfits and jewelry, and pompous, boring conversation. Worst of all, I will be expected to perform at least one dance with my new husband.

Koujaku has tried to convince me that dancing is like sword fighting—it’s all in the footwork. You can tell a lot about someone by watching them dance or fight. I’ve always loved sword fighting, but dancing? Well. I can tolerate it for one day. I have to. Because of my own stupid mistake.

The photographers are stifling and uncomfortable, hovering around like mosquitoes. I’m thankful for the traditional kimono since I’d be even more uncomfortable in a stiff tuxedo. The prince consort, if he experiences any discomfort from the professionals taking formal portraits or allowing the media to snap casual shots, doesn’t let on even one bit. His face stays relaxed and his eyes smile. He offers kind waves and a blown kiss or two—which astounds me. For a prince born into a house as ancient as the current rulers in Karou, his manner is quite casual and flirty.

The portrait photographer nags me to smile—and Bardo and Koujaku pester me as well. I don’t look particularly sour, either, which is even more annoying. I’m sick of being posed in these humiliating ways like some doll to do the people's bidding. But no, I'm suffering now because I didn't do what I was supposed to do and read that tributary agreement.

“Hold the prince consort’s hand, Your Highness.”

“Wrap your arm around his slim waist, Your Highness.”

“Tilt your chin toward your beloved husband, Your Highness.”

Stupid fucker doesn’t know what he is saying. During one shot, in which the prince consort and I have our shoulders pressed against each other—as if we actually know and love each other—the kitten astonishes me again. He tilts his chin toward me and waits until I return his gaze. He has a sweet and oddly genuine-looking smile on his face, and he winks at me. It’s a shockingly flirty mannerism. I can’t tell if he’s playing it up for the cameras (which the PR director will love) or if he’s making fun of me. I mean, he doesn’t even know me, so he can’t be flirting.

Can he?

As the afternoon drags into the evening, I regret not at least sending him another text, much less meeting him in person. I feel ill when we are seated for dinner—despite his efforts of conversation.

He coaxes responses from me easily enough, as well as those around him. And there are a lot of cats around him, swarming him. He is fascinated by the palace, asks about portraits hanging in the halls, and is skilled at remembering names. He’s not nearly as pretentious and spoiled as I’d expected of a royal prince. However, we are in public. Who knows who he will be behind closed doors?

I feel a certain disgust—mostly toward myself for having signed the damned tributary agreement without realizing the commitment—when I think of closing doors. The way the young Karou cat commands my eyes with his soft expression, full of hope and expectations of romance—gods. I can’t stand it. I don’t want any part of this, and disappointing him is going to be hard.

When the food is served, he picks around his plate carefully. He eats with fine manners, doesn’t drink too much but adores the sweet sparkling wine, but he moves his food around his plate more than he eats it. He delights in the fresh fruits and vegetables, enjoys the mild fish, but takes only small bits of red meat and poultry courses. I wonder if he is watching his weight because of how little he consumes. He has a wonderful figure, but he isn’t very tall.

Then again, I’m not eating much either, and it’s because of my nerves. Despite those dark lashes batting at me, that captivating voice murmuring soft words, and that small hand squeezing mine whenever it gets a chance, perhaps he is as nervous as I am.

The touch of his hand affects me more than I will admit. It disturbs me. I’ve never been a touchy person, and part of me worries that the prince consort is used to hugs and kisses and squeezes. He’s handsome—cute but firm, even in the softly flowing robes that are traditionally designed to look more feminine. Several times, he catches me looking at him—listening to his conversation with Bardo sitting next to him. He smiles at me each time our eyes meet.

Half-way through dinner, I realize returning his gaze boldly is near impossible because I’m ashamed of bringing him all this way, tearing him from his country and home, turning his life upside down, for the sake of peace. Gods, if I’d only bothered to read the details, Setsura could have settled for a few barrels of wine to keep the peace, never involving the life of an actual person (and a prince at that) in the first place.

Thankfully, I vetoed the stupid wedding cake tradition, unwilling to have any undignified cake smashing. Instead, I opted for serving a light, summery gelato made with kuim and raspberries. My ears shiver in response to the near-vulgar sighs coming from the kitten seated next to me. His wedding band sparkles on his finger as if it has always been there, his eyelids drift closed in an ecstatic trance as he lets a spoon of gelato melt on his tongue.

He glances up at me suddenly, his face paling slightly. Frankly, I’m relieved to see he is nervous. But then, his face melts into a warm smile, his fangs peep from behind plush lips, his fur bristles, and his eyes sparkle.

“Kuim is my favorite, Your Majesty,” he says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “And this is delicious.”

“It’s a traditional summer treat in Setsura.”

“Setsura has much warmer summers than Karou,” he answers. “Only one week out of the year is dry and warm enough in which we could enjoy something like this. It’s so damp and dreary.”

He takes another bite, this time meeting my gaze as he does. I watch him dip the spoon into the dessert and take a seductive, kittenish lick before putting it into his mouth. He repeats the soft hum with the spoon between his lips, and my fur bristles despite myself.

To my utter annoyance—and damn him, why did I choose him to be the best man?—Koujaku pipes up next to me and says salaciously, “Whoa there, kitten. You’d best wait to get the king to the bridal suite before you do anything quite so forward!”

The entire situation is ridiculous. The prince consort isn't being deliberately seductive. It's that my best man doesn't have the decency to keep his thoughts out of the gutter. I don’t look at him, but I feel relief when my fist lands not-so-gently against Koujaku’s arm. I don’t tell him to shut up—I don’t have to, at this point. The little prince smiles, slightly uncomfortable, and shifts in his seat, averting his eyes. There—that soft, pink blush floods his cheeks and the base of his ears.

Fuck. I’m so screwed. He is so enchanting it’s ridiculous! He balances on the edge between innocence and flirtatious. As much as it pains me to admit, my uncle and friend were both right. He is perfectly adorable. That makes what is coming next all the worse.

Before the dreaded departure to the bridal chamber, Clear announces the first dance for the royal couple. The song is a slow waltz, played with a small chamber orchestra. They sound elegant and perform well. So I do my duty boldly, despite all the public relations staff and photographers present.

Standing up, I offer the prince consort my arm and lead him to the dancefloor. I know the steps and I can lead confidently—but something about his movements makes our dance more romantic and compelling. His body melts against mine—and he is not afraid to touch me. He allows me to lead and he follows joyfully. He even gives me a chance to dip him, strategically in front of the cameras, I might add. Considering I thought I was leading, I’m a little surprised by this. It never would have occurred to me, but Clear seems thrilled and it was a smart move.

After our dance, the prince dances with Bardo and Koujaku—one right after the other. The music changes to something modern with a DJ—and once more, I find myself watching him. He moves across the floor like a fish in water—elegantly and perfectly—and he even makes my uncle look like a good dancer. He accepts dances from both Aoba and Sei as well—and I notice he leads for a while when he dances with both of them. He seems to be enjoying himself in the same way I enjoy sparring.

His movements aren’t raunchy or inappropriate, but there’s something sensual in the way he moves. I try hard not to notice or think about it.

“He’s yours, you know,” Koujaku says. “You can dance with him whenever you like.”

“His Majesty isn’t thinking about dancing,” a slightly unfamiliar voice says dryly. I look up to see the smirking face of the young lieutenant who sparred with me yesterday. I meet his gaze directly, watching his lime green eyes sparkle with mischief. “No one watching the prince consort right now is thinking about dancing.”

The fuck is that supposed to mean? I bite the inside of my lip to keep quiet.

Koujaku stifles a chuckle and then shifts away in his chair, out of my reach.

“Damn it, Rai. You’ve already left bruises. Can’t you save some of your energy for your little peach?”

I stifle a groan and ignore him—not realizing until it’s too late that even Noiz has gone up to claim a dance with my brand new husband. And he isn’t nearly as restrained as the prince consort is, though the kitten plays along graciously.

When I wave a hand, Clear appears at my side as though summoned by magic.

“I’m ready to call it a night,” I explain.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Clear walks up to the microphone, quieting the music and dancing, and gives a short speech about new love, hope, and peace. He invites the guests to stay and drink and dance to their hearts’ content. By that point, I’ve reached the prince consort and have rescued him from Noiz's excessive display, and I lead him to the hallway.

The kitten seems slightly taken by surprise, and I worry that he might have been enjoying the dancing. Then, I realize it's because we are both leaving at the same time.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“Oh—um—I was just, um, expecting some time to, um, clean up?” His voice sounds soft and not quite timid. Thankfully, I’m pleased to see he’s dropped the honorific while we are alone.

“Of course. It’s just traditional for the people to see us leave together.”

Aoba appears out of the blue, flustered and rushing—long hair fluffy and shiny, handsome in his tailored tuxedo.

“Sorry, Konoe—uh, er—I mean, Your Grace,” he corrects himself when he sees me.

The prince shakes his head and waves a hand.

“Please, call me Konoe. We’ve talked about this.”

“In front of, um, His Majesty?” Aoba’s eyebrows lift and he looks at me. I shrug, but the prince looks toward me.

“Is that all right with you, sir? Titles feel like more formal occasions.”

"Of course, as you wish." I don't prefer titles either, so this comes as a relief.

I watch as Aoba hustles the prince consort to the bridal suite. I give a sigh and head to my private den, checking the time make sure to give him time to undress and compose himself. This entire thing is just ridiculous.

* * *

“I’m so sorry, Konoe. I thought we’d have more notice.”

“Don’t worry, Aoba. It’s fine,” I say more to comfort myself than him, though. I’m not at all sure what to think of King Rai—my new husband—after this evening’s festivities.

During the photography session, he kept that same scowl (or pout?) on his face for the duration of the photos. I barely saw him crack a smile—maybe twice during dinner—to his closest friend, the duke. I am secretly wondering if I did or said something offensive, but I cannot for the life of me think of what it is.

For now, I cannot afford to worry about it. This is the evening I’ve been training for, and my future depends on tonight. I realize very well that I may not please the king or be his first choice. But there is a lot I can do to make myself more appealing. To prepare for the worst—that he is uninterested and will simply fuck me into the mattress without any care for my well-being or pleasure, I have some time to prepare my body in advance.

Aoba leads me to an elevator. The castle looks so traditional from the outside, it’s shocking to see all the modern amenities inside. We head to the top floor. The bridal suite has been arranged with a huge bed as the focus of the room. The bed was big at the Palace of Exchange, too. It makes sense, I suppose, if the cats of Setsura are tall. But still—this is a little ridiculous.

The room itself is spartan—aside from several floral arrangements—mostly white flowers with wonderful fragrance—a fireplace, which isn’t lit, tall windows that overlook the entire port city shimmering with night lights, and candles waiting to be lit. My trousseau is the only not-modern item in the room, and it is placed at the foot of the bed.

The bed has a modern canopy—sheer white fabric hangs down around it—and silver and pale blue bedding. I know my skin will look nice against it—and I can’t help thinking that the king will be flattered as well. There are more real flowers vined along the top of the canopy to complete the look.

Aoba rushes me into the bath—where the water is already drawn and steaming—and he shows me how to switch on the jets. I’m delighted for the bubble bath, and my toiletries have been brought in—including personal lubricant, much to my relief. I try not to blush about any of my personal items, but I need help to undress.

I’m thankful for Aoba’s quick help with the obi—I can get my hair since I practiced yesterday—and he reminds me I have half an hour to myself. If I need anything, please call anytime.

“I’ll light the candles on my way out,” he says. “And I want to welcome you to the kingdom officially.”

“Thank you,” I say, standing in the sheer red underlayer, wanting to get on with my preparations. I look up and prompt him. “Did you need anything else?”

“Just—Konoe, Your Grace—I am so thankful you are here. Please, um, treat King Rai gently. He has not been himself the past few weeks, and I worry he came across to you as cold and unfeeling during the ceremony and reception.”

He did, actually. But he also seemed to not be entirely disinterested, so I’m not as concerned as I would be if he had been outright cruel.

“I assure you, he is a kind man. He will treat you well. He so very much needs someone to love him and soften his edges,” Aoba says quietly. “When I saw how he responded to you in the portraits, during the dance, even while watching you dance with others—please understand he is not what he seems. He is kind under that gruff exterior.”

I smile.

“You don’t need to worry, Aoba. I understand, and I appreciate your concern.” I smile warmly and Aoba leans in and gives me a tight hug and drops a kiss on my cheek.

“Thank you, Konoe. You’re going to be so good for us.” His eyes shine sweetly—I think they might be tears. Then I remember the duke is his boyfriend. I wonder if there is anything that is preventing him from his own wedding. I make a mental note to ask later.

“Thanks for everything, and please thank your brother for me, too. He is a wonderful dancer,” I say as Aoba walks out to the bedroom.

There is no door between the bathing area (though the toilet is behind a door) and the bedroom. But I need my time to relax, so I strip off the kimono and slip into the hot water, allowing the fragrant oils to envelop me. I watch Aoba bounce around the room to light a whole lot of candles. It is nice and surprisingly romantic—and it softens the room when he turns off the dim lights.

The next twenty minutes, I spend in the bath, relaxing my mind, body, and spirit—and trying to work on my sensuality. I want to be irresistible to King Rai. I want to see what that stern expression looks like when it comes undone in pleasure, and what it will do to my chest when he finally smiles at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. I really ended the chapter there. I’m sure the next one will go just peachy—aren’t you?


	9. The Wedding Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... the much-anticipated wedding night. This came out quite a bit more angry than I expected—but it’s surprisingly consensual. Rai is not on his best behavior, but Konoe gets to know his husband a little better.

Unsure of how forward I should be for the first night with my new husband, I slip into the sheer red silk underlayer of the kimono before crawling onto the large, luxurious bed. I went back and forth when trying to decide whether to be completely naked or mostly covered for our first night together. Considering Rai’s interactions with me during the reception—stiff, formal, and shy—being partly covered is probably more to his taste. I’m worried that being too forward will make me seem more experienced than I am supposed to be, and I don’t want to seem too eager.

I am eager, though. I’ve been preparing for this moment for the past five years. Not only this moment but at least beginning with this moment, anyway. I’ve desired the silver cat and have trained my body to respond to him sexually. Of course, I’m excited and aroused as well as nervous.

More than ever, I wish I’d had a chance to talk to my new husband before our wedding. The first moments we are spending alone together will involve the consummation of our marriage. I know that is my purpose—and I have been trained to please—but I still find it uncomfortable and awkward. It would be much easier if I’d had even an hour of his time before this. I tried to feel out our connection at the reception, but between his reticent shyness and the sheer number of people who demanded my attention, it was impossible. However, the madam prepared me for this scenario, too, and I know what to do and what is expected of me.

Aoba lowered the sheer curtains around the canopy before he left. I can still see out, watching the beautiful (if slightly uncomfortable) flicker of candles decorating the room. I’m sure the king will spot my bright red kimono against the pale silky sheets through the curtains when he walks in the door. During my relaxing bath, I stretched out my muscles and lubed myself well in preparation for our nuptials, so I won’t have to rely on his experience for my pleasure and comfort.

The wedding was a lovely ceremony. I only wish my father had been able to give me away. The reception was nice, fancy and elegant but understated. I was relieved to not have to do any of the cringe-inducing traditional wedding customs, such as cutting the cake or the garter ceremony. I think I’ve been exposed publicly enough for my lifetime, and I hope no other embarrassing traditions await me. The first dance was nice. I was delighted to find the king moves gracefully, and he wasn’t as controlling as I expected. Any other ceremonies would have been too forced and too staged.

The more I think about him, the more excited I am about getting to know my new husband's preferences. He is strong and silent, but surely he must have some interests. My feelings were a little hurt by his stand-offishness, but he was probably just nervous. I know I was. Who wouldn’t be, marrying a complete stranger? Besides, we have the rest of our lives to get to know each other. I smile to myself, relaxing back among the soft pillows and silky sheets.

I’m confident I will be able to please him tonight—all awkwardness and shyness aside—and we will soon be on our way to learning to love each other. Perhaps they are somewhat immature, but my fantasies involve a tender, loving husband who lavishes me with attention and adoring looks in public and ravishes me with unimaginable pleasure in private.

The door clicks softly—and again, I find myself wondering if I have been locked in the bridal suite. It seems ridiculous to me. Perhaps it’s another Setsuran tradition intended to keep the tribute pure before the wedding night. I have a hard time imagining a tribute daring enough to fuck one of the king’s lieges right after the wedding, or so desperate to escape that he runs away on the wedding night. I’d never do such a thing—risking peace for my comfort. I suppress a nervous giggle at the thought just as my new husband walks through the door.

The door clicks shut, and it sounds so permanent. My new life is about to begin. I take a deep relaxing breath in and exhale with a soft hum, letting a soft purr vibrate my body. Those cute rounded ears twitch in my direction.

Rai is an incredibly attractive cat. I’ve never seen a cat more handsome, and I was thrilled to see that photos have not done him justice. I saw the corners of his lips twitch up slightly a few times during the reception, so I know he _can_ smile, even if he usually looks stern and serious for photos. But right now, his full lips are set in that familiar stern expression, that pale blue eye glaring at me. Even if he means to intimidate, his glare does nothing but excite me, considering the photos with which I have spent my nights these past five years. His fur bristles and I sit up to greet him.

“Hello,” I say softly.

He sighs and looks away from the bed. It’s not exactly the response I was hoping for. Part of me was expecting him to fall into my arms, whispering tender words of love (or at least telling me how he would like to worship my body) as our skin presses together. My cock twitches in anticipation despite his severe expression and my disappointment—maybe the past five years of jerking off have actually served me. My body starts to sweat as he takes a few steps closer to the bed. He sighs again, loudly, and then he addresses me.

“May I have the consummation silk?”

That’s not shy, I think. I’m surprised by the request, but I obey, climbing up on all fours to pull the silk from beneath my body. I purposely wiggle my hips—being careful to make it look like a sexy accident—twitching my fluffy tail seductively when I bend away from him. He is the only one who will ever admire and indulge in all the parts of my body I have never shared with anyone else. Again, I have to confess I’m disappointed by his lack of response.

After handing him the silk, bravely allowing my fingers to brush his, I don’t get a chance to turn around and arrange myself in a flattering pose on the bed. A gulp of air rushes from my lungs when I’m suddenly flattened to the mattress on my belly, as my left ankle is yanked sharply toward the large silver cat at the foot of the bed. It’s violent and undignified, and his touch is extremely unexpected and abrupt.

A warning sounds in my head. I wonder if I have misjudged my new husband. The madam warned me about cats who revel in power in the bedroom. Neither of us knew what sort of a man my husband would be, and so I was thoroughly educated in the joys of submission. I was even trained to enjoy fairly extreme amounts of pain which, as uncomfortable as it was, my instructor assured me would never go amiss. It certainly wasn’t my wish, though. But perhaps I won’t have a choice.

I wasn’t expecting this rough treatment so soon—certainly not without prior negotiation and discussion about limits and safewords. Now, completely flat on the bed, my silk robe hiked up enough to display the backs of my thighs, I struggle to withdraw my claws digging into the bedding beneath me. The smooth sound of steel being pulled from a sheath makes my ears twitch, and I glance nervously over my shoulder.

Holy shit! He’s drawn his dagger! Is he going to kill me!? What the hell?

“What are you—?! Ahh!” I cry out in surprise when a sharp but narrow slash of pain burns the arch of my foot. Honestly, it’s more surprise than pain. I have not been prepared for this type of pain play—especially not without advance negotiation. It’s completely uncalled for! “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?! How dare you!”

Rai meets my gaze, his blue eye sharp and cold. His lashes are long and plush and gorgeous, but he does not look pleased. He squeezes my new injury with the ceremonial silk, and my cut stops bleeding almost immediately. It was a shallow cut, but I’m still horrified. Karou royalty is not allowed to be deliberately injured! I watch with my jaw dropped as he opens the door and nonchalantly tosses the silk out into the hallway.

“Sire!” I can’t withhold the desperation in my voice. I wonder if I have done something offensive or he is somehow displeased with me. “You can’t _do_ that!”

“I _can_ and I just _did_. It’s a silly tradition. Useless. No one needs to know where that blood came from,” he replies.

“But, Your Majesty—”

“No treaty is going to tell me who to take to bed,” he interrupts, voice dripping with ill-humor.

“Your Majesty,” I start, sitting up a little straighter in bed, trying to calm myself. I’m nervous now. My legitimacy depends on the consummation of our marriage. Indeed, I’m male and a consort. The only value I have to this kingdom is satisfying the king’s sexual needs. And it looks like he has no interest! “A-are you not planning to consummate the marriage tonight?”

He glares at me again, pinning me in place with his gaze alone. He’s extremely intimidating. But I don’t back down. I’m a prince, after all, and more royalty runs in my veins than in his. He’s my husband and as consort, I only hold power if we sleep together.

“Do you _want_ to sleep with a stranger? You don’t know me,” Rai offers.

I’m not sure what to say at this point. Of course, I’d rather not sleep with a stranger. But I know—from my lessons—that if I manage our physical relationship correctly and daily, sex will build intimacy. We will get to know each other. But of course, it’s awkward to start. He must know this! The only other thing I can imagine is perhaps I did something offensive?

“Sire—Your Majesty—Rai—did I do something to displease you?”

He just glares at me. So I press on.

“Do I disgust you? Is something about me not to your taste?” Insecurities shiver through my body. I was taught self-confidence, but I never expected direct rejection on our wedding night. Why would he have sent for me, if he never meant to bed me? Perhaps he _does_ have someone else he loves?

He sighs again—loud and sharp—and it sounds shockingly childish. I can’t believe that sound came from him, and it does nothing but ignite anger in my gut.

“It’s not that,” Rai explains. “I just don’t appreciate being told to rut like a dog.”

“Then _why_ the fuck did you send for me, sire?” I don’t bother hiding my indignation.

He _did_ , in fact, sign the treaty—and my question makes him avert his gaze. _Because_ he sent for me, I suffered through five years of training to be pleasing in every way—and it was a humbling experience. Is he trying to tell me he has no interest in me whatsoever? It doesn’t escape my notice that he doesn’t answer my question. So I put on my bravest face and try to quash my anger, standing up from the bed and taking a step toward him.

“Sire, I know this is awkward and strange. I was hoping it would be less so—if we’d met at least once before the ceremony.” I glance up accusingly at Rai who deliberately looks away. “I was told your ‘work’ kept you away.” I’m sure Rai can hear the air quotes around the word “work.”

“It did. Unlike you, _I_ have a kingdom to run.” Again, it sounds petulant and childish—and yet, I detect a small amount of regret. I just can’t tell if it’s regret that he didn’t make the time to meet me or if it’s regret in summoning me to his court in the first place.

“I _do_ understand, sire. And it falls to me—as your consort—to help you any way I can. At the very least, I can eliminate some of the, um, stress and tension you have from working so hard.”

Rai glares down at me, and the shock of the power and strength behind that gaze makes my pupils dilate and my fur bristle. To be honest, I can’t tell if I find it extremely frightening or if it’s incredibly arousing. At this point, I don’t care. I’m going with arousing, though my anger is still boiling beneath my skin. My pride is hurt—of course, I’m angry. But I won’t let a little anger interfere with the task at hand.

“What can _you_ do? You grew up a pampered prince. You’re just a _child_.”

 _Unbelievable_ , I think. He is truly being impossible.

“Then _why_ did you summon me?” I leave out the honorifics now. “You’re the fucking _king_. You can modify any treaty before signing it.” I kindly leave out the fact that if he _had_ changed the treaty to a tribute that didn’t involve an actual person, my life would have been my own. I could have done whatever I liked! I could have enjoyed being the pampered prince he claims I am!

Still, he does not answer, but that frightening gaze drops to my feet. After a short pause, he speaks again.

“Get out. I don’t care where you go, but I don’t want you in my rooms.”

My hackles rise and my tail bristles. This is _my_ room now! Where the fuck would I even go?! I bare fangs and growl.

“How _dare_ you! I’m your _husband_ now— _you_ summoned me to court to marry you, to be your consort! And now what? You’re throwing some tantrum because you’re too scared to fuck me?!” I’ve raised my voice now, loud enough to be heard outside the chamber, and I don’t give a shit.

“Shut your mouth,” Rai warns, his voice low. Somehow, because it’s mostly devoid of emotion, it’s even more frightening.

“No! I’m here to serve a _purpose_! The peace and safety of Karou depends on this consummation! I don’t give a shit about your cowardice!” I may be stepping out of line—I know I am—but so is he! Rejecting me without giving me a chance?! What the fuck?!

Rai takes a deep breath to control himself.

“So what do you want?”

“Your _Highness_ ,” I say, my voice angry and brusque, “I want us to have sex. You know as well as I that if you refuse to consummate the marriage, I will hold no power here.”

That gets his attention and brings the full force of that pale blue eye back on me. His pupil is slightly dilated now, and his voice is sharp.

“Let me explain something to you, my _precious prince_ ,” he bites out angrily. As sweet as “precious prince” sounds, it’s not meant affectionately. “Even if this marriage is consummated, you will _still_ not hold any power here. Do you understand? This is _my_ kingdom. I do not need or want your interference.”

I am shocked by his words. I have no intention to interfere! But we are married now! I’m a part of his life and by default, his kingdom as well.

“I’d ask you to remember that royal blood runs in my veins,” I snarl back, unable to restrain my growl. I graciously leave out the fact that my heritage is much more royal than his. “I have no intention of ‘interfering.’ Aligning yourself with me will _legitimize_ your kingdom, Your Majesty.”

I use his title derisively.

“I don’t _require_ your legitimization. Don’t for a moment think that what happens in this bedroom will affect your status here _or_ touch my heart,” Rai says boldly. He takes a step closer to me. “Get rid of all those foolish romantic notions.”

“Don’t worry about that,” I insist, glaring right back at him. I’m unable to restrain even a little of my temper. “Romantic notions, my ass! You disabused me of those at the ceremony, _Your Highness_. Even if you were the last cat in Sisa, I’d _never_ fall in love with you. I just doubt _your_ heart will be safe from me, sire.”

“You’re quite confident for a man of your... _talents_ ,” Rai purrs, his voice outrageously calm and unaffected.

“ _Fuck_ you,” I growl, but I don’t back down.

“If you insist, I suppose I could oblige.” The king’s pale hands reach down to his obi and untie it gracefully. His fingers are long and slender—gorgeously pale and well-groomed. While I watch, trying not to gape, he strips out of his clothes using spectacularly (and annoyingly) graceful movements. He slips the silk kimono off his shoulders, standing before me with the most gorgeous body I’ve ever seen. He’s well-muscled without an ounce of fat on him without being bulky. Also, he is currently sporting an outrageous erection, larger than any of my sex toys. It’s shocking but my cock drips eagerly at the sight. He takes two swift steps toward me, turns me around, and throws me face down against the mattress. He keeps the silk kimono in his hands, stripping me naked before I land on the bed.

Again, I’m taken by surprise—this angry touch isn’t what I expected, but my body doesn’t seem to mind at all. I twist around quickly and grab his hair, pulling his face to mine with a loud, growl. Wasting no time, I crash my lips to his, helping myself to a deep, dirty kiss. His tongue pushes back and his lips soften—and by the gods, it’s hotter than any kiss I could ever imagine.

My growl changes to a deep purr, and my body softens as he pulls me up against his chest. He feels so good—perfect against my skin—warm yet unyielding as stone. A flash of vulnerability floods my system—an alarm system warning me I’ve been captured by a predator. But I fight the instinct to fight or flee, instead allowing the years of training kick in. I push my hips against his cock, grinding up from the bed by arching my back. I’m rewarded with a surprised and pleased moan.

The sound he makes does nothing but ignite a flame of desire in my body, combining with the anger burning inside me—though why this is the case makes no sense. I suffered a lot of indignity and humiliation during my training. However, I wasn’t prepared for anything like this anger and resentment. Fortunately, my body doesn’t distinguish between this rough touch and something more tender, and my cock only gets stiffer. I spread my legs and wrap them around his hips.

He continues the rough kissing—adding fangs and nipping my lips. But when his lips trail down my chin to my throat, I gasp and throw my head back, letting a moan escape. I have never wanted anyone this much and he is moving much too slowly. His hands travel along my sides, his claws drawn but scraping my skin lightly.

I take the moment to squeeze my thighs as hard as I can, using my weight to flip our positions and pinning him to the bed. He must have allowed this—or else I took him completely by surprise. But I used every ounce of strength to do just that. I keep my hands in his hair and tug at the roots, then let one hand trail down his back to his tail, which bristles long and thick in my hand.

Straddling him now, I grind our erections together. I move the hand from his hair to grab both of us, stroking us together and smashing my fingers into the slit of his cock. The size of him—his girth and length—it’s astounding and frightening... and so arousing I can’t think. In my distraction, he flips our positions again, throwing me hard against the bed.

“Nice try, kitten. Seems you have a little spunk in you after all,” he murmurs against my collarbone. His lips feel wonderful against my skin—and suddenly I feel his fangs sinking into the tender skin there, moving up to my throat. I cry out in surprise and fear, but my cock only twitches, demanding more contact.

“Hurry up,” I breathe desperately. “ _Fuck_ me, you _asshole_.”

“So impatient—and such a dirty mouth for a royal prince,” he chuckles, and two fingers sink into my well-prepared hole. Of course, I’m well-lubed, but I am slightly worried about his size. He seems to be confident, and he spread my legs wide and then folds my knees against my chest. I meet his confident gaze and growl again—but my growl is quickly interrupted by the intrusion of that massive cock into my body. It dissolves quickly into cries of pain.

Gasping and trying to suppress my tears—though he isn’t nearly as rough with me as he was kissing me and throwing me on the bed—my chin is lifted so I am forced to make eye contact. Tears spill down my cheeks despite my restraint—and to my utter shock, Rai’s face softens. He’s not quite smiling, but he isn’t smug and smirking, either. He looks hopelessly handsome, eye glazed over with lust. His hands move from either side of my body to the base of my tail and my cock.

“Relax, kitten,” he murmurs—and gods, even his deep, husky voice sends pleasurable vibrations throughout my body. My ears twitch helplessly, and goosebumps shiver down my neck and shoulders. “Relax and breathe.”

He stops advancing, waiting for my body to accommodate him—except for the hand stroking my cock, which sends a wave of arousal through my groin, contrasting sharply with the intrusion in my ass. An entirely different sort of pleasure ripples up my tail and my spine when he starts roughly fucking my tail with his hand. My fur bristles and I recognize the pleasure—even in this rough, angry coupling. It stokes a fire in my heart and my groin.

He resumes the gradual penetration when he has me gasping out in pleasure from his caress, and it’s not as painful anymore. It is intrusive and strange, yes—but my body seems to know what to do, softening for him. Once he’s completely buried himself inside me, he leans down to take my lips with unexpected tenderness.

I allow this for a moment before I nip his lip with my fangs.

“ _Move_ ,” I command.

He pulls back for a moment, giving me another sharp glare before he tilts his head and softens his face again.

“You make me want to fuck the defiance right out of you,” he purrs in that low, gentle voice, vibrating deep inside my body.

I know the madam told me to wait with my magical song. She told me not to sing right away and certainly not the first night. It’s a secret power shared only among the royal couples of Karou. And it’s intimate and can feel aggressive and invasive. But I can’t seem to help it. My soul itself vibrates with the desire to connect with him—I want to give Rai my body and my pleasure—and the feelings are confusing and strange.

Do I enjoy this treatment? Do I want to be taken so roughly? I hardly have a chance to think about it when Rai pulls out of me—almost entirely except the head. While watching me, meeting my gaze with a melting look, he slams back into me—aiming directly for my prostate.

While the entry is painful, the pleasure that melts through my body is unbelievable and wipes out all traces of pain—better than anything I have ever been able to create on my own. (And I’ve had a lot of practice!) I let my voice go, loud and honest. It’s so much easier to submit to my pleasure than I expected—even with this sort of rough sex.

My body responds again and again, as he deliberately thrusts at the angle I feel the most. It’s more than delightful—it’s overwhelming. His expression is hot and full of lust, and no one has ever looked at me like this before. It’s such a change from the cold disinterest he expressed during that horrendous conversation.

Part of me wants to resist the pleasure he is forcing on me—and it does feel like he is manipulating me to respond with lust. But the other part of me has trained hard to submit to pleasure—both his and my own—and that part wins out after the first three thrusts against that sensitive spot inside me.

I work hard to suppress the song inside my body, but I can’t help it. It starts to vibrate across my skin and my body—and he hears it—he feels it. I can tell by the look of surprise that flashes across his face. He doesn’t slow down in the least—instead, picking up the pace. I refuse to let it spill. I won’t let him have that much of me so soon.

“Harder!” I’m shocked to find myself making demands in between my vulgar cries. He complies with my request, and I’m pleased to see his face dissolving into lust. I don’t allow my song to spill entirely, as much as it wants to escape. I know it would be an even bigger relief, but I’m still angry. I don’t _want_ to share my feelings with my new husband—I don’t _want_ to submit to him entirely. I want to keep as much of myself as I can.

It’s bad enough that my body submits so willingly to the touch and the pleasure. I will wait till I feel more in control, more of myself—because I don’t want him to get the idea that I _want_ to fall in love with him. I _do_ , I realize, want to fall in love with him—despite my earlier harsh words.

I can hardly think about it now, though. My brain isn’t functioning. Not with the handsome face watching me come undone under his fingers. Not as his skilled hands caress me so tenderly, even as his cock ravishes my insides. Not with my fingers clawing through his hair and fur, finally digging into his shoulders as I hang on for dear life.

“Oh—gods...”

I can’t help the sounds (honestly, loud screams) escaping my mouth, and my utterances only seem to turn him on more. So I just let my voice go. A giant surge comes near, originating in my core and flooding through my body quickly—taking me by surprise and delight as I climax hard. I spill into his fist, arching my back, and enjoying the tight grip on my tail. Spitefully, perhaps, I clench my insides as hard as I can around that massive dick inside me, forcing him to slow down his thrusts.

It feels like he just held me down and fucked me— _he fucked the defiance right out of me_ , just as he said he would—and then his eye drifts closed and pleasure floods his face. I shiver again when I feel an explosion inside my body, coating my battered channel with come as he rides out his orgasm. My overstimulated body shudders with every additional thrust against my now tender prostate.

Once he slows to a stop—after releasing the most contented, purring sigh I’ve ever heard—he collapses on top of me, squishing me against the mattress. I am still gasping for breath, still suppressing the vibration of the song beneath my skin. But the way he is looking at me indicates he can feel it if not hear it.

“What _is_ that?” His voice is different—sated but full of awe. It’s a nice tone that indicates a modicum of respect, and it makes me feel good.

“Oh, um... nothing,” I say, struggling to breathe under his weight. It feels so good, though—being squished beneath his body while his cock softens inside me. I suppose this is what I’ve been conditioned to want, but I enjoy it so much I don’t worry about it.

He moves his hands above my shoulders and lifts his body off me just a little, still keeping his dick inside me.

“What _are_ you? That sound?” He drags his hand up to my throat and then back down my chest, tracing the smooth muscles beneath my skin, seeing if he can feel the vibration of the song beneath the surface.

I don’t answer, but I manage to avert my gaze. My first experience with sex with another person has been _completely_ different than anticipated. It felt so angry—but also very honest—and so much more pleasurable (and painful) than I expected. I’m embarrassed—I mean, I expected a little embarrassment. I lost my virginity, after all. To a _stranger_ , no less. I just hadn’t been expecting to enjoy it so much. That controlling touch—even as exhausted and spent as I am now—ignited a fierce independence in me I thought had been completely conditioned out of me. This must be what it feels like to be completely fucked out.

And still—I managed to come harder than I ever have. After our very first interaction. I’m not sure if this bodes well, considering how Rai spoke to me just before. It certainly won’t be the last time we fuck, though, even if he thinks otherwise.

I’m so spent now, I just want to curl up and go to sleep. Rai finally climbs out of bed—surprisingly gentle with how he pulls out—and heads to the bathroom. I’m assuming he’s cleaning up, but I’m too tired to move. My eyes drift closed—and I have to struggle to keep them closed when I feel the soft touch of a warm towel on my body. He cleans me up as if I am something precious—so different than how he just used me. The backs of his fingers caress my cheek once he’s finished. It makes something pull tight inside my chest, and I struggle not to release the tears burning my eyes.

Once he’s finished, his presence leaves. I curl up on the edge of the bed—careful not to intrude across the mattress to his side. We might have just fucked like animals, but I’ll be damned if I want the intimacy of cuddling with this prick. I fall to sleep almost immediately—much to my surprise—even before Rai slips into the bed next to me. I sleep more soundly than I ever have.


	10. The Night and Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rai combs through his thoughts while his new husband sleeps. We get a brief view inside the stern ruler, who is soft and fluffy as a marshmallow inside.
> 
> The next morning, Konoe wakes to an empty bed and a life that isn’t anything like he expected.
> 
> References to angry sex and angst.

**Rai** :

The prince consort is nearly asleep by the time I wipe him down with a warm cloth. I’m not sure what drove me to do this, I wonder, as I kneel beside the bed. It’s been years since I connected with a person other than myself sexually, and I’d forgotten how intense it could be.

In fact, I’m not sure I’ve _ever_ felt something quite so intense with any of my previous partners. Certainly, never anyone who has let themselves indulge with such abandon. It was incredibly enticing—from the soft sounds that increased to louder cries of pleasure to the way his heated, angry gaze gradually melted into utter pleasure and lust.

And that strange vibration from his body—it felt like the beginnings of a song, sung for me—a response to my touch. He allowed me to play his body like an instrument. It was tantalizing—that sound simmering beneath him, mixed with his cries and that molten gaze. At the same time innocent and experienced, this kitten has been trained well.

There’s something _incredibly_ hot about thinking that the kitten sleeping in my bed has spent the last five years of his life training to please me. I don’t know why I've never considered it before now. A spoiled prince, sometime during his adolescence, was taught to please not just a king, but _me_ , in the bedroom. I wonder how it was done and what skills he has. I wonder if he was forced or if he was willing, and if he had to be held down. (That thought is particularly fascinating.) Was it _daily_ training? Who would have been responsible for shaping a royal prince into the sexy creature he is today? And yet—despite that training, it was very obviously his first time. For some reason, the fact that I was the one to take his virginity is also quite compelling. I cannot imagine such intensity will be repeated. The fact that I’m even thinking of successive bouts of animalistic sex shocks me. I’d assumed I’d fuck him once and then leave him alone. I’m still not sure how I feel about his ideas of “legitimacy,” whatever he thinks that is.

I can't deny the magnetic attraction I felt the first time I laid eyes on him as he glided down the aisle in the church. He’s handsome and petite with a sweet, honest face. While he looks the part of royalty, there is something much more open about him than I expected. The way he casually smiled, flashing shy glances and fluttering his lashes, made me feel his attention was focused solely on me. Almost as if that is his _purpose_. As if _I_ am his purpose. It’s incredibly hot.

All that attraction didn’t encourage me to treat him any better, once we were alone. I was deliberately cool during the ceremony and aloof during the reception. At least, I’m sure that’s how I projected myself. Still, the consort was not deterred, eager for conversation, and kept his eyes on me. The way he looked at me was so filled with hope and eagerness, which only increased my guilt and pressure. There’s no way I can live up to his expectations of whatever image he had of me all these years.

While it was better to disappoint him early on, I’m a little embarrassed about the tantrum I pitched when the prince didn’t take kindly to my rejection of the bedding ceremony. I’m not sure I’d have handled it differently since I don’t regret caving in to his demands and desires. He has been carefully conditioned to crave sexual pleasure and connection—and I felt his desire and lust in a way I can’t quite explain.

The difference between the obedient demeanor and shy gazes he cast on me in public and how he acted in private astound me. I was expecting a shy, timid kitten, and he showed me his claws. And gods, his language was not at all what I was expecting from a royal!

Then, there was the soft vibration that I felt beneath his skin. Like a pot just about to boil, rage and lust simmered through his muscles and bones. I sensed that it was barely contained, that he struggled to control it, perhaps hiding it from me deliberately, as he fought against his body’s desire to release that sound. It felt strangely powerful confined within his tight, compact body. Part of my heart suspects this creature might be a Sanga—half the pair of the legendary Sanga and Touga fighters from the days when Sisa still had magic. It’s a ridiculous notion as there hasn't been a Sanga (or any magic) in Sisa for many years, but a feeling nonetheless.

The kitten is sound asleep now—utterly spent, his face is relaxed and gorgeous, while curled up carefully on one side of my large bed. He’s giving me space. Perhaps I feel bad for asking him to leave. Where could he go, after all? This is the bridal suite. My words were unnecessarily cutting.

I sigh as I climb into bed on my side, listening to the soft, whispering sounds of his breathing. I can't seem to hear them without also remembering the gasping, purring pants that filled the room while we had sex. It bristles the fur on my ears.

When was the last time I shared a bed with another cat? I can’t remember. Normally, I find it difficult to sleep next to someone else—being so vulnerable when I drift off—but he sleeps soundly and feels oddly safe. My military training included a crash course on sleeping in the field, so I can fall asleep quickly and sleep lightly, still partially aware of my surroundings.

Part of me doesn’t want to sleep right now, though. Instead, I glance at the naked and uncovered kitten, curled up in a fetal position, his smooth back and perky ass facing me. His tail and ears twitch in his sleep. He looks incredibly young, and my heart breaks just a little for him. He’s left everything he knows to come here because I summoned him as part of the tributary agreement.

He knows it. And I couldn’t admit to him that he is unwanted. That I don’t want and never wanted a spouse. That I don’t want some peace treaty to tell me who to fuck. But we’re here now—and perhaps something good will come of it. Certainly, the sex was incredible. It was surprising.

Despite my better judgment, and perhaps because of my guilty feelings for treating him so coldly, I run my fingers through the plush fur on his ears—extraordinarily plush and short, and silkier than any cat I’ve ever felt. I lower my mouth to one of those oversized ears and give it a gentle lick. Grooming him after sex? That is something for _committed_ partners, I tell myself. I haven’t earned this—not after what I said to dash his romantic notions and how angry our connection was. However, he is my spouse. So I gently straighten the fur on his ears, careful not to wake him. I run my claws through the fur on that captivating tail. It’s covered in the same plush fur with such an intriguing hooked tip. I groom it, too, watching with fascination as goosebumps shiver across his sensitive skin with the touch, even as he sleeps.

Before I go overboard or get worked up again, I cover his body with a sheet. I settle in to sleep, turning away from him, not wanting to disturb him, as if that might be possible. Despite the physical connection we shared, I don’t think holding him while he sleeps is something our current rocky relationship can handle. It might be better to move him into private quarters once we return from the honeymoon. It would be more comfortable (and familiar) for both of us to have our own space, I think. I will look into it—and find out why it hasn’t already happened. Although I wouldn’t mind spending another evening with him. I found his enthusiasm quite compelling.

 _Honeymoon_. The word leaves a sticky, repulsive taste in my mouth. The point of a honeymoon is to get to know each other sexually, I suppose—and in our case, to show off my new spouse to his new kingdom for positive PR. Perhaps—and this is the first time I consider the possibility—perhaps it won’t be _that_ bad if we can have a repeat of what happened between us tonight. He’s quite a firecracker, I think, as I drift off to sleep, my nerves soothed and my body utterly satisfied.

* * *

Sometime during the dark hours of the morning, I am startled awake. For a moment, I’m disoriented—unsure of the warmth pressing against me. There is a naked kitten in my bed—and then I remember, ah, it’s the prince consort. _My new husband._

He isn’t awake, but his body seems to be seeking warmth. I went to sleep on top of the bedding last night, a common habit during the warm summer months. This kitten, however, has short fur, and perhaps he doesn’t do as well with heat and cold. His skin feels chilled when it presses against my side.

I turn to my back to get a better look at him. He is no longer on his side of the bed. Instead, as if his body is searching for a connection, he is burrowing against me on top of the sheet. He snuggles against me, pressing against my body with abandon as though it’s natural to do such a thing in his sleep. When I turn toward him even an inch, intending to push him back to his side of the bed, his body cuddles flush against mine, his chest against my chest, climbing on top of me and tucking his head and soft hair under my chin. It’s impossible to miss the beginnings of an erection pushing insistently against my belly.

What to do, I wonder? He’d most likely be embarrassed if I woke him. He would certainly be hurt if he woke while I shoved him back to his side of the bed. It isn’t as if he is doing this on purpose. Plus, he smells comforting. His breath is slow and even, indicating deep sleep. His body behaving this way instinctively—in his sleep—warms something deep in my heart, touching something buried deep in my soul.

I close my eyes and take a deep, relaxing breath, getting a nose full of his captivating scent. It’s honey mixed with a summer floral fragrance. My mind wanders, wondering which is perfume and which is his natural scent, deciding ultimately that I don’t care either way. I enjoy it. It warms me. Eventually, I drift off to sleep. At least till dawn, I can tolerate this kitten in my private space. Then I’ll get up and dive into my regular training routine and finish the work planned for today.

**Konoe:**

I wake in the morning in a strange room in an empty bed. Also, I feel strangely empty inside, my mind blurred with sleep. I realize I’m still naked—and the memory of my first interaction with my husband floods me all at once.

The feelings that overcome me are hard to describe. Humiliation, wounded pride, and anger mix with a confusing feeling of arousal, all rushing through my body and pooling heavily in my groin. I give a long stretch and take a few deep breaths, trying to regain control of myself. I resist the burning in the back of my eyes—I will _not_ cry. I _knew_ the first few weeks would be difficult. It’s only natural. But I have nothing with which to compare what happened between us last night.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought sex could be so _angry_. And at the same time, it was filled with exponentially more pleasure and pain than I expected. I still hear the king’s ( _my_ _husband’s_ ) voice echoing in my head, disabusing me of any romantic or tender feelings and my desire for legitimacy. It _hurt_ —more my pride than my body. I need to stop dwelling on it. I can _fix_ this. I can make it better. Just... first, I need to get through the day.

But then I sit up, and a deep, throbbing ache floods my lower half. Below my tail is raw and sore. In addition to a fresh burst of anger (at Rai, for his rough treatment of me and myself, for responding so enthusiastically to his treatment), desire and lust fill me in luscious waves. I’m utterly confused by the combination—and I think I may be ashamed.

My teacher would be disappointed. There is _nothing_ shameful about having intercourse with my husband. That concept was drilled into me. It's my _function_ , my _purpose_. So these feelings must be the result of my childish crush on a foreign Setsuran king I’d never met who desired me enough to summon me across an ocean. The knowledge that he may _not_ want me here had never crossed my mind. It’s humiliating!

I spent all those years molding myself (and being molded) into the ideal consort, only to discover I am not wanted at all. Another flash of anger makes my ears ring and flush, and I’m mortified to discover my dick is getting hard. Did I _enjoy_ his treatment of me so much? What actually happened? What is _wrong_ with me?

Shaking my head, trying to clear my thoughts, I soothe myself with a quick grooming session. When the king’s fresh, delicate scent fills my nose—while I’m grooming my _tail_ , of all things—a shudder courses down my body. What the _hell_? Just from sleeping in his bed? It can’t be. Did he... Could he have groomed me in the night?

The very idea that he might touch me while I slept is equally disconcerting and attractive. I want him to _love_ me—I want him to _fall_ for me—but he’s already promised he wouldn’t. So why, then, would he have touched me in such an intimate way? After, as he put it, “fucking the defiance” out of me? (What a conceited thing to say to me!) I can’t even imagine—I don’t _want_ to imagine. I need to get up and get away from his scent.

Hauling my heavy, uncooperative body out of bed, I limp to the bathroom. I have been told that a nice hot bath will soothe the muscles that I haven’t used before last night. Every painful step makes my anger flare a little higher and at the same time makes my cock stiffen. The experience makes me angrier _and_ more aroused with each step! What the _fuck_ is happening to me?

After struggling to turn on the water, I throw in a handful of herbs and flower petals and pour in a little bath oil. I climb in as soon as the water is warm—the tub as large and luxurious as I remember. Once the water level is high enough, I turn on the jets and let my body relax. It is indeed soothing—to my body anyway. My mind and emotional state are still _out_ of control.

I am angry at Rai but even angrier at myself. How the hell was I still able to respond the way I did? It’s mortifying to remember the sounds that escaped my mouth when he touched me, how enthusiastically I kissed him and pulled him against me. Even if I was conditioned to respond to his sexual touch, what actually happened was entirely unbelievable. I thought I knew myself so well, but it turns out I know nothing at all.

Sulking in the tub until the water cools down, I spend the time gathering my thoughts. Regardless of the sexual connection between us, it’s my job as tribute, as prince consort, to meet his desires. I am here for that very purpose. The fact that it may not be as unpleasant (or unwelcome) as I think it should disturbs me. It frightens me that I got so aroused by the rough treatment when I thought I wanted tenderness. But I can’t let my feelings get in the way of what I need to do.

Toweling off my body and my hair, I wrap myself in a plush robe while I treat my skin with oil. There’s a soft knock at the door that startles me from my self-care. When I look out the window, I realize it must be almost noon. I slept late—exhausted from the stress of the ceremony and reception, not to mention the activities afterward. I head to the door and open it, relieved to find I’m not locked in, but no one is there to meet me. Instead, I see a breakfast trolley. I’m glad I don’t have to talk to anyone yet, anyway. My stomach growls with hunger so I pull it into the room.

The king’s chamber—no, _our_ chamber—is deathly quiet. I walk over to a window and pull it open, delighted by a warm summer breeze from outside. Then, I sit down and fix myself a cup of coffee with plenty of milk and sugar. The food looks wonderful—luxurious and delicious—even better than what we had in Karou. Karou relied heavily on seasonal fruits and vegetables. For some reason, perhaps the kingdom’s size, Setsura has a large selection of fresh fruit, even out of season varieties.

I eat as much of the fruit as I can and drink some freshly squeezed juice, then have a slice of freshly baked bread drizzled with honey and melted butter. I take a single slice of bacon—as delicious as it is, bacon isn’t part of the diet the madam approved. One of the ridiculous things she taught me is how diet affects the taste of your bodily fluids. And I don’t want to ever remember the lessons. It involved tasting myself in ways that I never thought a prince of royal blood would do. Fresh fruits and most vegetables should be the main staple of my diet. It not only keeps my body lean and healthy, but it also helps with the flavor of my saliva and sweat, and _yes_ , my semen.

A soft snort escapes my nose at the thought—as if the king—as if Rai—as if _my_ _husband_ would _ever_ take me in his mouth and pleasure me that way! I cannot even imagine it! He’d _never_ lower himself for my sake. Of course, I do not doubt that oral sex _will_ be expected of me. And that raises my ire once again. _And_ my arousal. Gods damnit, this is so irritating! Perhaps I should have taken care of it in the bath, but I was simply too upset.

Sighing softly, I make plans for the days before we depart for our honeymoon. The rejection the king showed me last night won’t make my job easy. I knew it wouldn’t be. I never _expected_ it would be. So I formulate a plan of how to take the king to bed—tonight and tomorrow and the day after. Once we reach our honeymoon destination, it shouldn’t be as big of a problem. I _hope_.


	11. The Palace Tour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Konoe finishes his meal, he gets a surprise visitor who takes him on a palace tour.

After my late breakfast/early lunch, I pull on some casual clothes. My new wardrobe has been brought to the room—all items manufactured in Setsura since I left all of Karou behind after that pool ceremony—and I make sure I am well-groomed in my reflection. I practice walking, too. I confess I’m surprisingly sore and dreading the fact that I will need to get the king to fuck me tonight as well.

Perhaps he will be happy with me servicing him orally. Surely, he has to know I’m new to this activity and the size difference between us doesn’t make it easy. On the other hand, he is probably well aware of my discomfort, and I wouldn’t put it past his sadistic nature to insist on another bout of angry sex simply because he knows I am sore.

I have to calm myself—my ire and arousal are out of control every time my newly minted husband comes to mind. I don’t know what to do about that. The angry way in which he touched me, how controlling he was, and his rough treatment send bursts of heat to my groin, even as my ass throbs with pain.

There was still something tender about it—when he’d kiss me—or when he first entered me and told me to relax. He soothed me in the midst of our coupling, and then he groomed me afterward while I slept. He groomed me as a husband would his beloved spouse. The tender actions are bewildering. They make me long for a romantic connection I know he does not desire.

Before leaving the chamber, I push all those thoughts out of my mind. I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to do with the afternoon, but I am sick of being confined to a small space. I have spent nearly six weeks doing just that—on the ship and then at the Palace of Exchange. This is my home now and I am going to explore it.

Imagine my surprise when I let myself out of the room and find the duke waiting for me. It’s the king’s cousin—Koujaku—leaning on the wall casually, just outside our bedroom.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Koujaku purrs, pulling himself up to his full height. “I trust you slept well? And had a, um, _pleasant_ night?”

His eyes glide down my form, I’m sure watching for any reaction from me. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I’m thankful for practicing my walk and how I stand, though I am well aware the base of my tail bristles slightly with pain.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” I echo. “Thank you. I did sleep quite well. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Please, Your Grace. Call me Koujaku. We’re family now.” The duke offers me an arm. I’m a little confused, but I take it to avoid being rude. “I saw the king in his office this morning. I was a little surprised to see him there—sticking to his usual routine—and I thought I might give you a tour of the castle. At least I can show you where His Majesty spends most of the day.”

“Thank you,” I say, and I am thankful. I considered calling Aoba to ask him for help and a tour, but Koujaku will do just fine.

He chatters pleasantly about the castle, leading me to the training rooms first. They are well equipped and currently mostly occupied. I hadn’t forgotten that Setsura is a military nation, but I’m a bit surprised to see the advanced sword training. Part of my heart lurches and I wish I had my sword. If I’d brought it with me, I’m sure it would have been confiscated at the Palace of Exchange.

There are many rooms—separated from the observation hall in which we are standing. We can peer through the glass, watching groups of soldiers training as well as one-on-one sparring.

“The king always starts his day here—at dawn. He has a limited list of those powerful enough to give him a workout. I was honestly surprised to find him here this morning. I’d have thought you’d have tired him out last night and given him a better workout.”

I glare up at the duke and drop his arm. I take a deep, calming breath before I say anything I will regret later.

“Our evening was just fine,” I say. “His Majesty was reluctant, but I managed to talk him into a pleasant night. It was nothing I hadn’t expected.” Of course, I am downplaying my true feelings about what went on between us last night, but those are none of the duke’s concern.

“Oh?” Koujaku says. He has a knowing smile on his face, but we are both waiting for the other to give away some private information.

“Yes,” I reply. “I have been well-trained.”

“I see. Well, there isn’t much _I_ wouldn’t give for a prince consort who has been trained to please me in bed.”

Heat floods my cheeks and ears and I resist the urge to sputter. When I am able to speak without spitting, I ask about the duke’s lovelife.

“Your Grace, aren’t you and Aoba dating?”

“He told you?”

“He did. Besides, I’m sure you’re well aware of the policies against cavorting with the king’s property,” I add crisply.

“ _Property_?” The duke purrs. “How can you say that with such a straight face and still make it sound so _utterly_ enticing?”

“Please,” I say, turning back to the training to change the topic of conversation. It’s no secret what my purpose is, and I refuse to let a stranger shame me for it. “So His Majesty works out every morning? Does he spar with you?”

Koujaku nods, putting his hands in his pockets.

“He does. Are you interested?”

“In sparring? With His Majesty?”

He nods again.

“Yes. I spent some time with Karou’s military—which is nowhere near as large and active as Setsura’s, I realize. But I enjoyed my time there.”

“What weapons did you learn?”

“Sharp-shooting, of course, and also I had some hand-to-hand and sword training.”

“Are you any good?”

“I’m sure I’m not as good as these soldiers. I was told I was a talented novice. It’s unusual to allow Karou royalty to participate in close combat, but I wasn’t destined for the throne.”

“Huh,” the duke seems intrigued. “I’d _love_ to spar with you at some point.”

 _I’m sure you would_ , I think but don’t say.

Next, Koujaku shows me to the dining area. It’s set up like a cafeteria. It's filled with palace staff and employees even after the busy lunch hour has passed.

“Of course, you can just pick up the phone from your chamber or your office and have anything you like prepared. But the food here is excellent.”

“Breakfast was delicious,” I concede. “The fruit is so fresh. Is it grown locally?”

Koujaku nods, going into the details of where and how different produce is harvested and delivered to the palace.

“It was one of the healthiest initiatives of this administration—encouraging year-round produce shipments to even the most remote villages of the kingdom. His Majesty believes every cat has the right to a fresh healthy diet.”

Karou could never do such a thing as it’s exclusively a mountain kingdom. We import most of the produce since our growing season is so short. It seems like a nice idea—and frankly, one that surprises me. I can’t quite reconcile the man who fucked me so ruthlessly last night ( _into submission, he fucked the defiance right out of you_ , echoes in my head) and the king who cares deeply about his people—enough to legislate their dietary needs.

I’m brought to the medical floor next.

“Is this a hospital?” I ask, somewhat surprised.

“Close enough. Dr. Toue—I believe you met him—” I certainly did and I am not going to even _think_ about that experience, “he researches here. It's about science and progress as much as it is about health and medicine. Toue is closely related to the king.”

“Oh?”

“Well, closely as in, I believe his wife was the king’s father’s cousin. So close enough by marriage, anyway.”

“Is she no longer living?”

Koujaku shakes his head and shrugs.

“Just as well. That old man is obsessed with his research. I have no idea what he’s even working on. I was shocked when I heard he would be the one to examine you. He rarely treats other patients, aside from Rai, er, His Majesty.”

I hum softly, looking around. They have a lab and a radiology room, and what to me looks like several surgical suites, in addition to the examination rooms. The staff smiles at me, recognizing me on sight. Everyone is kind and friendly. As I’ve learned to do, I offer all my replies with friendly grace and charm.

Next, we head to a floor of offices. The palace is huge—and it looks traditional from the outside, but there are modern offices with computers and telephones and everything you wouldn’t expect inside. It’s a weird juxtaposition.

“Your office will be set up here,” Koujaku gestures with his hand. “The king works on another floor, but we thought you’d be more comfortable here. I mean, once you get settled in. You'll want to get used to your _role_ here first. It will be after your honeymoon, I’m sure.”

I don’t miss the sidelong glance Koujaku flashes at me at the mention of my honeymoon.

“I can’t believe you talked him into taking one.”

“Taking one what?” I ask.

“A honeymoon. He hasn’t been on vacation since I’ve known him. Sure—a few days here and there, mostly when he’s been ill. But a _week_? You’ll have him all to yourself. He’ll come back a new man.”

I don’t suppress my scoff in time. Hearing all these references to my “role” in this kingdom is getting annoying, but I’m not sure how to deal with him. I am perfectly friendly when Koujaku introduces me to the staff, who are thrilled to meet me.

“So wonderful to have you here!”

“The two of you make such a lovely couple.”

“I can’t wait to see how you shake this kingdom up!”

Whatever. As Rai suggested, I won’t have any effect on his kingdom whatsoever. I'm sure he has underestimated my talents. I turn up all the charm and chat pleasantly with the staff until the duke takes my arm.

“We have other places to visit,” he explains, leading me to the elevator.

“Your Grace,” I start, as soon as the elevator doors close.

“Oh, please call me Koujaku,” he interrupts, gallantly taking a sweeping bow.

“Koujaku, then,” I begin again. “I realize my presence is a novelty. But I’d kindly ask you to refrain from speaking about my position in front of others. It’s not necessary.”

“Excuse me?” The duke’s warm brown eyes deepen to a reddish color. He seems shocked by my direct request.

“Yes, I have spent five years training for this position. My instructors considered me the best student they’d ever trained. But I will _not_ be discussing my training nor the effects or details of my position with anyone _other_ than my husband.”

I cross my arms and shift my weight against the back of the elevator.

“Um—”

“As you well understand, it is my purpose as consort to please the king—in the bedroom and his home life—in addition to acting as support wherever I am needed. I understand this and plan to fulfill my duty to the best of my ability. It’s my former kingdom’s peace at stake, after all.” I pause deliberately, meeting his eyes. “I’d prefer it if you’d keep your questions and curiosity to yourself. I’m sure everyone understands my purpose here and they don’t need reminding.”

“Er, I apologize.” The duke looks chastised—which was my intention. I am surprised at how quickly he apologizes and when he averts his gaze. “It’s just—I’m sure you understand—Rai is my cousin and my best friend. I am only concerned for his well-being.”

“Rest assured that His Majesty's sexual well-being is in my capable hands now. I’m sure he’d appreciate your concern. But _I_ would appreciate it if you were more discreet.”

Koujaku looks down at me, mortified and silent.

“I am well-trained, sir. I will come to you if I ever need advice or help in that department. In the meantime, perhaps you might curb your curiosity. I don’t appreciate the prying.”

“I apologize,” the duke repeats quietly.

“Thank you. And I accept your apology.” I lift my chin like the royal prince I am, quite proud of how direct and professional I was with the duke. To be honest, I do find him a little intimidating—both from his manner and his size and looks. I also don’t hesitate to take the duke’s offered arm once the door to the elevator opens again, acting as if I’ve put the entire conversation behind me.

We are on another office floor—this one with a much larger waiting room and several administrative assistants milling around. I see several empty meeting rooms, an employee refreshment area, as well as a few closed doors.

“Your Grace!” I recognize the soft voice at once. It’s Sei, Aoba’s brother and my husband’s assistant. “Welcome. I hope the day finds you well.”

“Sei, please. Call me Konoe. I’d prefer to save the titles for formal events.” I'm a little surprised to see Sei here. We must be at Rai's office now. I hadn’t planned on seeing him and haven’t quite prepared myself.

“As you wish, Your—er, Konoe.” Sei smiles. “Are you here to see His Majesty?”

“I’m actually just on the palace tour—”

“Yes, we are,” interrupts the duke. “Where is the overachiever, anyway?”

He pushes past Sei’s desk, as Sei throws up his hands in resignation. The duke opens the door and there he is—in all his gorgeousness, sitting behind a large mahogany desk. He glares up, irritated by the sudden intrusion. I’m a little surprised by the anger in his eyes—which irritatingly sends a shiver of desire right to my groin.

**Rai:**

I haven’t been able to get _anything_ done today. It’s a total waste. I’m annoyed and irritable and I cannot concentrate. The _only_ thing on my mind is the kitten who has suddenly infiltrated my life, living space, and thoughts. The kitten and his smooth skin, gorgeous voice, soft fur...

Even training felt off this morning. I woke feeling well-rested—and considering the invasive nature of that sleepy cuddling last night, it’s nothing less than a miracle. But I couldn’t concentrate—and I ended up leaving the spar early for fear I might injure my partner due to my distraction.

After heading to the office and putting up with Sei’s judgmental stares all morning—although he did fetch me coffee when I asked for it—I realized I couldn’t concentrate on the paperwork on my desk, either. Instead, my mind keeps wandering.

Specifically, wandering to the sex from last night. Was I too rough? It felt like the prince consort _manipulated_ me into fucking him. I had graciously offered him a way out of consummating this sham of a marriage. And he had the gall to be offended! And then, once the tables turned, it felt like I _forced_ him. But despite all of this, I’ve never seen another cat enjoy the physical act as much as he did. Perhaps it’s true that I’d never enjoyed the physical act quite so much, either.

All I can think about is the tears he shed at the initial penetration—and how my body slowed down and decided to wait for him to adjust, urging him to relax and soothing him. Then how his cries of pain melted so quickly into screams of pleasure. It makes my heart race to just think of him. I’ve never made another cat cry out in pain in bed before—and I feel bad about it. But when I think about how responsive that kitten was, and how loud he cried out in ecstasy despite or possibly _because_ of the pain, my guilt dissolves into something else entirely. It makes me want to fuck him again. _Right now._

Why am I sitting here in my office when there is a perfectly available partner waiting for me upstairs?

Just the thought of his compact, muscular body, soft fur, that captivating scent, and hypnotic voice, makes me stiffen in my pants. And that irritates me. I know Karou must have done this on purpose—sent this enticing kitten to me to get under my skin. I can’t let that happen. This is _Setsura_ — _my_ responsibility—and I won’t be giving that kitten, sexy little creature or no, any power anytime soon.

Whoever the fuck came up with that tributary agreement must have been a genius. There’s no way faster to get someone over to your side than seducing him with a trained consort.

I shake my head and hear Sei speaking to someone out in the lobby. I ignore it for now—and then the door to my office opens.

About to rebuke my visitor for coming in unannounced, I look up angrily to see my cousin walking in. At his side is the prince consort. I can’t help my surprise—and my anger, mixed with desire and lust—at his presence.

“What are you doing here?” I direct the question at my husband, but Koujaku answers.

“Sire,” he begins in that imperious, bossy tone, “what are _you_ doing here? You’re newly married! Shouldn’t you be seeing to your nuptials? This kitten came such a long way for you, after all. He deserves to be pleasured and debauched in many ways. Surely you didn’t expect him to stay in your chambers all day!”

Actually, part of me did indeed expect that. Perhaps I look at the small cat as a pet rather than an actual person. Well, with the exception that I’d never have this kind of lust for a pet. However, I do wonder what he’d look like in a collar...

A soft growl spills from my throat—at least, my gods, I _hope_ it’s a growl and not a purr—in response to the duke’s insolence. I should be used to it at this point. Koujaku has been more excited than anyone about my marriage, never passing up the opportunity to needle me about it.

“Perhaps you should simply take the rest of the day off, sire,” he suggests, less than helpful.

Continuing to glare between him and the prince, I expect to intimidate at least the kitten. But while he looks away, averting his eyes in embarrassment, he isn’t cowed. It irritates me—and it fucking _arouses_ me. I can’t remember the last stranger I met who wasn’t scared shitless of me. It’s more than hot.

“The duke was kindly giving me a tour of the palace,” the consort says, soft voice neutral and even, his eyes shimmering that gorgeous gold shade. He looks all right—not sore or anything—except that the base of his tail is fluffy.

I can’t think about the base of his tail at the moment, or my mind will start to picture the rest of his body and what I’d like to do to it.

“I appreciate your concern, _Duke_ ,” I say sternly, “but I have other business to attend.”

“As if those _aren’t_ the same reports that have been sitting on your desk all week, Rai,” Koujaku purrs. “In your place, I don’t blame you. I just can’t believe you bothered to _try_ working today.”

A faint flush colors the prince consort’s cheeks and floods his ears, and he looks away. He doesn’t exactly look embarrassed—only put on the spot.

“I didn’t mean to disturb, _sire_ ,” he says, his voice snarky in a way only I would recognize is less than respectful. When he meets my gaze, I see a flash of that same defiance I saw last night. And my gods, I am _tempted_. I don’t think I’ve ever been tempted so sorely before. A vision of what he might look like, naked, and bent over my desk, scattering these useless reports to the wind, floods my mind.

Shaking my head to discard the image, I realize I hear something vibrating in my ears. It’s a low, rhythmic sound—lower than a purr—but I’m almost certain it’s emanating from the prince himself. It's the same sound I heard simmering beneath his skin last night, and it beckons like a siren’s call—begging to be touched, kissed, and yes, _fucked_. My heart flutters in my chest despite (and probably because of) my annoyance and irritation, and blood pools even heavier in my groin.

“You’ll _forgive_ me,” I say, my voice icy and clipped, dropping my eyes back to the papers on my desk. “I will be late tonight. Feel free to eat supper without me. Enjoy the rest of your tour. Good afternoon.”

“You can’t be serious,” Koujaku says. “Rai—”

“ _Leave_.”

“It’s all right. His Majesty is _occupied_. I will see him later in our rooms.” Konoe’s voice drips with barely reserved anger laced with a thinly disguised threat, but I don’t miss how he watches my body. Nor do I miss the bulge in his jeans—the bulge that has been increasing in size from the moment he walked into my office. Gods, I can smell his sweet floral scent from here, too. “I hope you have a _productive_ day, Your Majesty. I’ll see you tonight.”

His words are courteous but curt, but he flashes those sharp white fangs at me in the most seductive way possible. It’s a haughty look if I’ve ever seen one. He doesn’t wait to be dismissed. He stalks out of the office, leaving the duke (and me) alone with our jaws hanging open. I hope Koujaku isn’t sharing my thoughts—which involve what it would take to wipe that look of the kitten’s face.

“Ribika,” Koujaku mumbles. “He’s something _else_ , Rai. What the hell happened last night?”

“None of your fucking business,” I reply. “ _Get out_.”

“That’s no way to treat your new spouse—”

“I said, _get out_. He will have me all to himself for a week in a few days. He’s waited five years. Surely he can find the patience to wait two more days.”

“As you wish, _Your Majesty_.” Koujaku sweeps one of his pretentious bows to match that annoying use of my title and leaves the office, closing the door with a bang.

That leaves me alone with piles of paper that all look the same on my desk, a full-blown erection in my pants, and the fantasy of bending the kitten over all these papers and fucking him till I hear that song spill from him. My heart flutters—and I get absolutely _nothing_ done for the rest of the day.

Perhaps I am avoiding returning to my chamber, for fear of what awaits me there.


	12. Our Second Night Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rai returns to the chamber he shares with his new consort, unsure of whether he wants the prince awake or asleep. Of course, Konoe is awake and gets his way.
> 
> Explicit (and rough but consensual) sex in this chapter.

It’s after nine in the evening—the moon of shadow rising in the sky spilling its light through the windows—as I take the elevator up to the floor I now share with the prince consort. I need to get him his own space, but he probably won’t take that well. I’m half-way hoping he’s asleep when I return. I hung out in my office, avoiding him like a child. But he’s been on my mind the entire day, and my body seems excited to see him. Stupid physical urges I didn't even know I had are running my life these days.

There’s no way I’ll wake him if he's asleep, however. I don’t know if I want him awake or asleep. Surely he will be demanding if he's awake, and that doesn't sound half bad. Ah. It seems he’s awake. At least, he looks up at me, a rather harsh, cross look in his eyes, from where he’s sitting on the couch, sipping a glass of wine. From what's left in the carafe, it looks like this isn’t his first glass. Glad to see he’s relaxing in his new environment, I suppose.

“Hello,” he says. I jerk my chin up to meet his gaze as I am stepping out of my shoes. His voice is soft and purring—not at all what I expect from that angry glare of his. He stands up from the couch in greeting. “Have you eaten? They brought food a few hours ago. We can reheat your portion if you like—”

“I’m fine,” I say, wrestling my tie from my neck. “You shouldn’t have waited for me.”

“Oh, I already ate.”

“I meant you didn’t have to wait up if you were tired.”

“Oh. Actually...” To my surprise, his gaze wanders to the side, and he looks as though he’s discovered an extremely interesting pattern on the rug. Maybe this is him being shy? “I was waiting for you.”

“Were you,” I don’t really ask. I finally have my tie off and hang it and my jacket on the back of a chair. I look around, noticing he’s bothered to keep the room tidy. Good. I’m sure he’s grown up with servants caring for him his whole life.

“I, um, want us to have sex.” It’s a direct admission, and his bold statement is spoken quietly and without demand. I’m slightly taken aback by his direct statement.

“Didn’t we consummate the marriage like you wanted last night? After that, I assumed you’d be a little... wary to approach me again so soon.” I specifically don't use the word "sore" or "raw" to describe why I thought he wouldn't be interested.

I hear a barely suppressed growl from the prince consort’s direction. I hide my smile.

“I want us to have sex,” he states again, more confidently this time. However, he still doesn’t approach.

I want a shower. I’ve had a long, frustrating day—and honestly, the offer of sex—especially something close to what we shared last night—does sound enticing. But I’ll be damned if I encourage him in his little infatuation. I gave him fair warning, and he doesn't know me. I glance at him smugly, letting him know I heard and understand his request, before boldly stalking off to the bathroom for my shower. He can do as he likes, but he'll get no help from me.

**Konoe:**

_Infuriating_. Smug, arrogant, and so fucking _infuriating_! I’m not sure I would be able to do this—handle my job, so to speak—if he were any older or less attractive. Even with that stern look on his expression, I have to follow him. He’s certainly not making this any easier. But I know my place and my role. Even if it means stuffing down the anger deep inside.

Below my hips, however, has decided this arrogant cat has just what it takes to get me off. My body remembers as if trained how nice he made me feel last night. No, nice isn’t the right word. He made me come completely _undone_. It was amazing—mind-blowing. But still, I’m angry. I’m going to use that anger to get the job done. That is one thing the madam made sure to teach me.

The job, in this case, is to fuck the silver cat who just childishly walked into the bathroom to avoid me.

I take a few deep breaths—and wait till after I hear the toilet flush and the shower turn on. I hear the water pattern change with what I can only assume is my husband standing under the spray.

Well. At least he’s already naked. And I did spend plenty of time prepping myself this afternoon and evening. In the bath and outside—this time spending longer than the half-hour I had yesterday. Now that I’ve seen what I have to work with—and I need to stop right now. I’m already excited thinking about the silver cat, his giant cock, his grumpy expression, and how easily it melts into indulgent pleasure.

Dressed only in my robe, I waltz into the bathroom, knocking twice on the door before opening it. There’s wonderful steam filling up the bathroom, and I can see Rai’s pale blue eye peering out from underneath the steam. His hair is soaked—and gods, seeing the water cascade down the perfect musculature of his shoulders, chest, and abs takes my breath away.

I don’t say anything. I’m not taking no for an answer so I don't even ask. I strip off my robe and hang it up on a hook over the door, and then join him in the steamy shower.

“Hi,” I whisper again. He doesn’t reply—and he looks distracted, as he’s about to squirt a bunch of conditioner in his hair. “Let me help you.”

Again, not waiting for his reply or his consent, I snatch the conditioner from his hand and squirt some on my fingers. I comb my claws through his hair—from the roots to the tips—surprised at how silky his usually fluffy hair is, even when wet. The conditioner smells fresh and minty, meshing well with his cool natural scent. I pay close attention to what I’m doing, careful not to pull or yank. I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach, but he just watches me, that careful, cool expression unchanging.

Once the conditioner is combed all the way through, I peer up at his eye through my lashes. He’s still wearing the damned eyepatch—even in the shower—and that shocks me. I think he slept with it on last night. I reach up to remove it—and he stops my hands. I don’t force the issue, but once he’s grabbed my wrists so firmly, I can hardly resist. I lean toward him and tilt my chin, intending to steal a kiss and expecting him to move away.

To my surprise, he doesn’t. In fact, he relents—gently lowering his chin to meet mine and tilting his head. He lets me lead, though the hand gripping my wrists tightens a little. I push up against him, feeling his erection press against my stomach, letting out a soft sigh as I get pleasant friction from his warm and wet skin.

The low sound in Rai’s chest deepens from a purr to a growl, sending a rush of heat into my hips. A helpless, submissive sound spills from my lips. When I move to kiss him again, I find my body turned around and pressed up against the cold tiles. I hiss at the contact—my stomach cooling from the tiles, and I push away from the wall as much as I can. Rai’s heavy weight pins me in place, and his tongue lowers to the junction of my neck and shoulder. I shiver when he sinks his fangs into my shoulder—I should protest loudly at the rough treatment, but I find even the bite extremely arousing.

“Stop it, you asshole!” I protest, but I’m leaning my head to the opposite side, exposing more of my neck with the pose, encouraging him to keep biting me.

He hums softly, the soft vibration mixing with that growling purr rattles deep within my body. His hands slip around my hips, ghosting over my erection. He offers another thoughtful hum when he touches me with his fingertips, and when I bend over a little more to give him access and press back against his hips.

“Spread your legs, pretty little prince,” he orders, his voice husky and soft.

I don’t think of disobeying him. I spread myself wide and lift my tail, blushing only a little under the thick stream of water spilling over my back.

“You’re quite lovely, aren’t you?” The unexpected compliment fills me with a rush of heady endorphins. I never realized I was sensitive to praise, especially not from the likes of this arrogant bastard. My reaction makes me feel humiliated. His fingers slide down my waist and curl up over my ass, which gets a friendly squeeze and sends another wave of lust into my chest that seems to cancel out or enhance the humiliation. His thumbs glide between my cheeks as he spreads me wide enough to push two fingers inside, testing to see how prepared I am. His hands outside my body feel secure and safe, even if I am slightly frightened of taking him inside my body again.

He seems pleased enough—and then something hot and hard hovers just outside my ass for a few seconds before plunging deep inside me. My entire body jolts forward with the rough handling, and like last night, I cry out in sharp pain. Tears burn at the corners of my eyes, but then his hands move—one to the base of my tail and the other to my cock, which hasn’t flagged even the least.

“Were you taught to enjoy pain, kitten?”

I can’t reply—except in a dirty meow—because of how nice his hands feel on me. Even his breath and soft grunts that should dissolve in the sound of the water send flashes of lust into my body. I lose my breath when he pulls all the way out of my body before slamming roughly back inside. He knows exactly what angle to use to bring out the most pleasure—even despite (or perhaps because) the rough treatment. It’s only minutes before I’m desperate and howling for mercy—and he wraps his fingers around the base of my cock and squeezes, preventing my release.

I growl, glaring at him over my shoulder.

“Let me come, you bastard.” The words rumble in my throat.

“Isn’t it your role to satisfy me? So... _satisfy_ me.”

It sounds more like a promise than a threat, and I squeeze my insides around that giant cock as hard as I can, twisting my hips as much as possible while trapped between his hands. The hand on my tail brushes my wet fur backward—which normally might be unbearable, but right now, sends shivers up my spine. It's an odd mix of pain and pleasure, and I'm pleased that my body seems to remember more of the pleasure.

In short order, the silver cat once again has me at his mercy. As if he memorized every touch I enjoyed last night, his cock thrusts directly against my prostate, making me lose my ability to breathe. He nips the tip of my ear, making me cry out loud. Then the fingers around my cock loosen into a circle, and the rough treatment of the intrusive thrusts into me force my body to fuck his hand.

The air fades to a foggy white—a hot spark of lust spills into my hips, and my chest vibrates with the desire to sing for this cat. I resist as much as possible, unwilling to let my song spill out before I feel ready. But it almost feels as if he is forcing the song from my body. I kind of love the sensation—and my body feels the urge to submit to the pleasure. I give everything I have—saving that song—to the cat fucking me mercilessly—and I climax.

It’s as rough and sudden as it was last night, but oh, so _good_. It fills my entire body with pleasure followed by utter exhaustion and relaxation. A bright flash of light fills my eyes—and it must be the song I’m pushing down inside my body. Like light spilling out from under a closed door, my song is barely held back by my last resistance.

Rai notices it right away and climaxes inside me. He fills me with his hot release, and I purr in pleasure from the sensation of the hot liquid inside me. I had no idea I would enjoy this part of sex. Despite my training and all my education, part of me suspected I’d find his leavings dripping in my inner walls and then seeping between my thighs a little disgusting. But I don’t. I feel like it belongs there. It feels valid, an indication I've completed my job for the day.

I struggle to pull my legs closed, but he stops me. I’m finding it hard to move, so I relent, letting him use a washcloth underneath my tail to gently wipe me down and rinse me in the water. His fingers are so gentle—as if he cares about the tender skin beneath my tail. He lovingly cleans me—treating me as if I am something special—and then turns off the water.

The feeling of being something worthwhile and special to the silver cat makes tears fill my eyes. I resist them. I know better. But I appreciate the careful handling all the same. It warms my heart even as it burns my eyes.

Rai squeezes his hair out before wrapping a towel around me, then wraps a towel around his waist. He doesn’t waste time. He carries me to bed—leaving me naked and slightly damp but pulls the covers over me, turning me to my side.

I’m purring even when Rai climbs into bed next to me, pulling my back against his chest. It’s a tender sensation when I feel his lips against my ears. At first, it almost feels more intrusive than the rough sex in the shower—the careful strokes of his tongue on the fur of my ears. But it fills my chest with relaxation and pleasure, extending the afterglow of that amazing orgasm—and I’m so tired I can’t protest.

He must have done this last night after I was sleeping. The fact that he might touch me while I am sleeping frightens me and arouses me in equal parts. But now, I’m so tired that all I can do is close my eyes and purr.

I drift off to sleep with his surprisingly tender grooming. I try hard not to think about swearing I wouldn’t fall in love with him. Because my body is certainly betraying me at this point.


	13. The Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Rai’s perspective on their second evening together, the king is finding himself more than curious about his new husband.
> 
> CW: somnophilia (to start) which reads as pretty damn non-con. (Konoe doesn’t mind, but that does not make it consensual, so reader beware!)

**Rai** :

It happened again. I have been surprised and delighted by the prince consort’s grit and determination. I witnessed it again tonight. Even when I stayed out late, avoiding him and half-hoping he’d be asleep when I returned, he gave me every last bit of himself. He didn’t even wait until I was done showering, either.

As I lie in bed with the prince cuddled against my chest, his soft, sexy voice—unrestrained moans, mewling, sounds of utter desperation—echoes from my memory. I have to admit that whatever training this kitten suffered on my behalf has been well worth it, from my point of view. He does not disappoint as far as a consort goes.

His training must have been grueling from the beginning. It was one of the reasons I tried so hard to get the marriage deal changed to a tribute that didn’t involve a living person. He was destined for suffering the moment I carelessly signed the agreement. His purpose—in my kingdom, anyway—is my pleasure. Seeing to my pleasure is the bridge between our countries. From that light, I was disgusted to think Setsura would use a cat’s physical body to maintain peace.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t attracted to the kitten. I liked his image well enough when I first laid eyes on his portrait. I remember seeing the man he might become when I saw his likeness. He was just so incredibly young and innocent. I knew that if I couldn’t amend the treaty, I would be condemning him to suffer. Once the treaty was signed and approved by both regencies and both countries’ parliaments, there was little I could do without risking war.

My lack of foresight is what led to his years of training. I wonder—not without some sexual interest—exactly what sort of training he was given. I hadn’t expected him to be so eager, nor so confident. While I _had_ expected him to submit to my pleasure—perhaps with more reluctance than I have seen so far—I did not expect him to indulge himself so freely. He has no shame when it comes to his body or the enjoyment he gets from sexual pleasure. It’s an amazing sight. Watching him switch from arrogant, noble prince to compliant sex kitten is quite something—and something that he learned just for _me_.

There’s something incredibly enticing about it. No one else will _ever_ touch the blonde kitten the way I have. No one else will hear that voice. He’s put all this effort into his sexuality—to fulfill his purpose and his duty, even within these first two days of our marriage. And he enjoys himself in the process. I saw it in his face tonight, too.

One moment, he’s glaring at me over a glass of wine. The next, he barges into the bathroom, interrupting my shower as if he belongs there. Once his clothes come off, that slightly smug and haughty look disappears as if it were a façade. He lets go of all control during sex. And it isn’t that he simply lies limp, letting me control everything. He is an active participant and that’s powerfully attractive.

I’m certain his teacher taught him to find power in his position. Without that peace treaty, would he have ruled Karou? Would he have been a king? Karou is much smaller than Setsura, certainly. But it’s landlocked. There is an art to governing a kingdom that requires outside resources to keep itself going. And he left all of that behind to maintain the peace through sexual intercourse? It’s hard to believe.

As much as I enjoyed this evening, I find it odd that he was so eager to participate. I was certain he’d be sore from last night. I’m sure I detected a slight limp when I saw him earlier today. I was none too gentle, though he was well-prepared. Tonight, even more so. The thought of the petite blonde lying in my bed, fresh out of the bath or a steamy shower, naked, holding a bottle of lube in his hand while stretching himself nearly overwhelms me. I wonder how long it will be until he allows me to participate in his preparations. I've never wanted to participate so much with any previous partner, even when my participation was eagerly requested.

I drift off into a wonderfully deep sleep with the kitten still in my arms. I don’t feel guilty about it, either. I may have told him I wouldn’t fall in love with him, but that doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy the benefits that come from marrying such a skilled consort.

Some hours later, I wake to a strange, soft sound. It sounds like music—only it echoes through my entire body instead of my ears. When I open my eyes in the darkness, I realize the kitten in my arms is glowing with a soft golden light. His body is pulsing with light, each pulse in rhythm with the almost-melody that echoes in my chest.

It does the opposite of making my skin crawl. It attacks me—the song does—overtakes me, making me crave more—but it is gentle and utterly open. It shimmies across every inch of my body like a physical touch. There’s a strange hallucination of the sound waves brushing up against my fur, my skin, the hair all over my body, my groin... everything. It sounds submissive but is utterly compelling—as if to say, _this is for you but you won’t accept everything from me yet._

More of the melody simmers beneath his skin. I know if he let go of his restraint, it would feel even better. I _want_ it—I want to _consume_ it, _devour_ it—and my lust overtakes me faster than it did in the shower earlier.

To my surprise, the kitten is soundly asleep. His face is peaceful, his muscles relaxed and perfect. But I know this song is intended for me—as if he is saying my name in that honeyed, sexy bedroom voice, again and again, all in his dreams. It fills me with a possessive streak I didn’t know I had.

Foremost, I glance around, wondering how soundproof my bedroom is. I can’t have any other living person hear the sound that he is making for me right now. I feel that this is for me _alone_ , even if he is sleeping and the song is leaking out without his consent.

Second, I wonder if this is what I’ve been expecting from Karou. Perhaps they truly did send a consort who has been trained to manipulate me. He could do just that with this song.

Third, I hardly care. I enjoy the sound so much and the feelings it brings that I don’t care if he’s doing it with the intent to manipulate. All I know is that I would do _anything_ to hear all of it clearly—because even with my lack of experience, I know there is more.

To my delight and convenience, the kitten is still completely naked in my arms. I have a gut feeling I know what to do to hear more of this song. I drop all my pride to pursue it.

While he is still sleeping, I caress his lithe form slowly and tenderly. I deliberately use a soft touch—designed to arouse but not to wake him. I know if I wake him he will most likely suppress the sound. Part of me melts, thinking this kitten is so innocent and young to allow so much of him to relax in my presence that he would sing in his sleep. I’m flattered, too—and again, curious more than I should be about his training.

Continuing to stroke his soft chest, toying with his nipples, my mind wanders. I imagine him, slightly younger, during his training. There’s an obvious difference in stature between us—so did he learn with dildos or vibrators? Did he have to work himself up to feel pleasure as openly as he does? How would that work? Did his teacher force him to climax again and again until he enjoyed himself thoroughly or performed adequately? How often did he train? Daily? Does he intend to fuck me daily? Perhaps he can’t even sleep without an orgasm first...

My hands are not as chaste as they started, especially not once his tight little ass curves up against my hips. I rest my erection—which is dripping and hard nearly to the point of discomfort—between his cheeks. I imagine a day in which I might fall asleep inside him, his insides coated with my cum, his body soft and relaxed and sated.

That’s it, I think. _Satiated_. I enjoy the look of relaxed, sated pleasure in his face when he climaxes. He looks _complete_. I wonder... he is still so young. I wonder if I might be able to fuck him to climax and then keep fucking his oversensitive, overstimulated body into a second climax. The thought is so incredibly hot my cock drips a little more.

Gliding my hands down his slender waist, I slip my fingers into the soft trail of fur that leads to his cock. He has very little body hair, save for this soft fur. I wonder if this is natural, but it seems unlikely. Perhaps he had it removed as part of his training?

No other lover of mine has indulged with the same amount of freedom that he seems to have. It’s enchanting and addicting to watch—and even while asleep, his compact body seems to stretch out and make itself open and available and even eager for me—my hands, my cock, my touch—our connection. And _Ribika_ —the soft scent emanating from his neck is utterly perfect as if it’s designed for me. He reminds me of summer—specifically, of hot, summer night’s romp in a field of flowers. The thought sends another burst of arousal to my hips and my hand sinks lower.

The tail with its enticing little hook is beckoning to me. At first, I think he is awake. But no, his face is still relaxed and his eyes are closed. The soft fur feels nice when it wraps around my upper thigh as though this is its natural place. I pinch the tip gently, watching with pleasure as a ripple shivers up the fur. When the shiver reaches the base of his tail, his hips give a little jolt, then curl up tight, pressing hard against my cock.

A moan escapes his plush lips, and my heart is shaken when I see his teeth trouble his lower lip. From this angle, the perfect shape of his cupid’s bow is waiting to be kissed. His closed eyes squint slightly, long dark lashes fanned out on his cheeks. My gods, he’s _gorgeous_. And so seductive—even in his sleep.

What kind of training would an adolescent have to go through to be this seductive even in his sleep? I feel dirty thinking about it.

He’s erect—of course—though not dripping until I press my thumb gently into his slit. That brings out a few drops of glistening cum (which sparkle deliciously in the low, golden light spilling from his body). In response, I’m rewarded with another provocative thrust of his hips and another soft moan.

Making sure he is still soft and comfortably lubricated, I slide two fingers into the hot hole waiting to be fucked. I feel the leftovers of my earlier release coating his twitching insides and still, he does not wake. I can’t believe I’m about to do this to a sleeping cat—but this is my _husband_ , my _consort_ , who woke me with that soft, enticing song. What else could he expect?

Pulling my hips back for just a moment, I line my cock up with his entrance, watching with fascination as his tail flicks out of the way, uncurling immediately from my thigh and swaying demandingly. Still, his eyes remain closed, though they rapidly move back and forth beneath his lids as if he is dreaming.

Well. To hell with it. Let’s give him a nice erotic dream and see if I can’t fuck this little song of his out into the open.

I slowly, slowly press into him—using much more care and tenderness than I have with his body before. As I advance—enjoying his warmth, enjoying the muscles, enjoying how he flutters and melts around me—a spark of guilt stabs my chest. Have I treated him unkindly? Unfairly? Too rough? This sort of gentleness is enjoyable in its own right, and I figure it wouldn’t hurt to try slow and tender fucking at least once.

We have the entire week of our honeymoon, I suppose, to figure that out. While the word _honeymoon_ still strikes me with discomfort, I won’t mind getting to know his body better. As I watch my cock sink into him, I imagine the different faces I will see when we fuck and how this one—the soft, innocent, sleeping face—is another facet of my complicated spouse.

My _spouse_. My _husband_.

With fascination, I watch his greedy, eager body slurp up my cock as if it’s been waiting for me—as if he is a missing puzzle piece or a work of art sculpted for my pleasure. His back curves and his hips push back against mine. Still, he sleeps. His expression has changed from that peaceful quiet one to one that is in the midst of a pleasant, sexy dream.

The sound coming from his body changes, too. It increases in volume and clarity, letting me feel even more. My body responds with a soft glow—a _magical_ glow—and then it occurs to me. Karou has a _magician_ at the court. Is this song some sort of magic?

Magic... some sort of sex magic... What could it be?

But my mind quickly becomes clouded with lust when the kitten’s heat envelopes me to the hilt. And damn, he’s _still_ asleep! My astonishment is so great that I forget to feel guilt for taking advantage.

“Ahh...”

A soft, purring sigh escapes the kitten’s lips. I know my cock must have brushed against his sweet spot when he tilts his hips back against me, arching his back. His ears twitch, his tail flicks in that enticing way, and he’s purring. Gods—he purrs in his sleep _and_ during sex. What a sweet kitten...

Ever so gently, I grab his hips with both hands and pull out almost all of the way—leaving just the head of my cock inside. Then, equally slowly, I push back in, enjoying every twitch of the muscles around my dick and the tremors traveling up his spine. The very moment the head of my cock makes contact with his prostate, I feel it. He clenches his muscles around me and another soft gasp escapes. He twitches and quivers with pleasure.

Finally, his eyelashes start to flutter. He’s waking up—like a fairytale prince, a true Sleeping Beauty.

“Mmm...”

The soft hum enhances his soft song. The melody calls to me, making my insides want to reach out and swallow him whole. I long to hear all of it—but even this gentle lovemaking isn’t enough to make him relax his guard completely. I’m almost sure the song will soon be cut off—the moment he wakes fully.

His expression is bewildered—and delighted—and he groans in pleasure at the slow thrusting, arching into it, wiggling against me, and I watch with some amazement as his hands creep down to his hips. I guess their target and push them away.

“Not yet,” I whisper as his ear twitches against my lips.

I clasp both his hands in one of mine and press them against his chest. He arches more, moves more, trying to twist out of the position I have him in. But I hold him still, preventing any movement except for the utterly slow, indulgent pace I’ve set. If I glance down, his tail is still flashing the occasional gorgeous view of my cock sinking into his body. His arched back shows off even more of himself.

And he’s getting louder—and then suddenly, his body freezes for a moment, as if he’s suddenly woken up all at once and notices his body is singing and glowing. I hear a muttered curse—his language is surprising. I had the curse words beaten out of me as a child. I wrongly assumed "authentic" royalty would have had a stricter upbringing than me.

I pick up the pace—if only to distract him from suppressing his song—deliberately brushing against his prostate with each thrust. His toes curl, his claws draw, and his hands attempt to struggle free of my grip. I don’t let up, unconcerned that I may be leaving his delicate wrists bruised. He just feels so good!

“ _Please_ —Rai—please touch me,” he murmurs, tossing his head and sending another waft of sweet summer smell into my nostrils. Gods, if he smells this good now, I’m a dead man during mating season.

“Don’t move your hands,” I order, but I release his wrists. He obediently keeps his hands clutched to his chest, and I see them flatten out slightly. The moment my hand slips down to brush the head of his cock, his fingers touch his nipples and he moans.

“Gods—just—just like that—oh my _gods_ —oh _fuck_ ,” he starts to swear more, arching into each gentle stroke to his cock and back against me.

I’m keeping the same slow pace, despite the bucking of his hips. I _love_ seeing him so eager. Up till now, I was sure he was into rough sex. And he definitely enjoys rough handling. But I’m _thrilled_ to see he enjoys soft and gentle as much as he does rough.

Again, I’m stunned to realize this is only the _third_ time he’s ever fucked another person. He can’t possibly know himself yet—his favorite position, pace, pressure. It thrills me to death—making me shiver from my bones to the surface of my skin—to know that he will discover all of these preferences with me—in my bed.

In _our_ bed. Or in the shower. Or fuck it, on the floor and against the wall.

My heart thumps painfully in my chest and I quicken the pace to keep up. I watch as he fights back that magical glow and sound, trying to suppress it and prevent its release. I want to hear it all—but I know I can’t force it. My curiosity is piqued, however, and I will stop at nothing to provoke that soft sound.

Until he submits and complies, though, I’ll make him come undone with pleasure. Which is my next goal. Tightening the grip around his cock and on his hip, I continue grinding into him, faster and faster—until he loses his breath among all the soft, sexy sighs. I freeze suddenly—gripping the base of his cock just as I feel him tighten around me.

“Oh, shit...” he whispers, and his voice spills out almost pained. I wait for a moment, giving him a chance to recover and for his insides to relax. I expect an insult—waiting for him to call me an asshole or bastard and just let him come. But none comes. Instead, his rough breathing evens out into deep breaths. And when I start moving again, relaxing my grip on his cock, he murmurs again, “Oh, fuck...”

While I wanted to make him wait, edge him to his limit, I’m finding it difficult to last much longer myself. The soft melody and light that surrounds us are distracting, and I work him up into a fresh frenzy.

“Rai—gods...”

Holy shit, do I love to hear him call my name in that breathless, desperate tone! A gasp escapes my mouth when he tightens around me—and he spills into my hand, making the most gorgeous sound when he comes. Even the song brightens up, clears just a little more before he can cut it off.

I follow quickly—especially since his hips are bucking against me. This climax feels different from the other two I’ve experienced with him so far. This one feels more intense, which is surprising because the pace has been so gentle. His body feels like _home_ to me—which is incredibly unsettling, considering we’ve only been married for two days so far.

My body comes to a buzzing, pleasant rest and I plant my chin over his shoulder. Looking down, I realize my hand is still wrapped around his cock. I release him and brush through the soft fur on his belly, relishing his soft trembling in my arms. His tremors send goosebumps into my shoulders and back, bristling out my fur.

This time felt more _connected_. Or maybe I’m just tired and sleepy. Maybe I appreciated him waking me with that soft melody. Maybe I love that he lets his guard down completely around me. Maybe he's magic. Whatever. I grab a towel from the side of the bed and quickly wipe him down.

He can barely move, but his eyes blink slowly and he’s licking his lips. Gods—this kitten sleepy and fucked out is utterly _irresistible_. I can’t keep looking if I plan to get any more sleep tonight.

“Did I wake you?” I murmur into his ear.

“Mmm,” he hums, stretching out long and lean for a moment before curling up into my chest once more. “You can wake me like that anytime you like.”

Surprised by his response, a delicate feeling fills my chest. He welcomed my touch—and from his perspective, perhaps this _was_ the first time I’ve instigated sex. What he doesn’t know is that his song woke _me_ , that him grinding his ass against me enflamed me.

It’s only a few minutes before his breath slows and those lashes drift closed. I drift off to sleep afterward, satisfied and calm in a way I haven’t felt before. But my curiosity about that song stays with me, even in my dreams.


	14. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, I have not forgotten my love for these two fluffy boys.
> 
> Konoe has an interesting second day as the price consort to the king of Setsura. He witnesses his husband sparring for the first time and makes himself otherwise useful.
> 
> There is consensual sex in this chapter.

**Konoe** :

When I next wake, I’m alone in bed. Rai is already gone, but his scent lingers all around me. I stretch out long and lean, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, feeling a pinching soreness beneath my tail. The soreness isn’t exactly painful. There’s something almost pleasant about it. At first, I thought this feeling was pleasant because it reminds me of a job well done. But this morning—I just feel sated and well-fucked.

As I wake up, noticing the soft rays of dawn spilling in through the windows, my memories shift into place. Last night—I woke with Rai inside of me. He made love to me slowly and tenderly—so different from the violent fucking in the shower or how he took me on our first night.

There was no biting or scratching. No pinning me down. Not that I didn't enjoy those things. But he still commanded me, specifically, not to touch myself. My heart throbs at the memory and confusing tears burn my eyes.

I’m bewildered. I knew getting used to each other would be difficult—and this is only our third day together. I still clearly hear his voice from our wedding night, rebuking me for my romantic notions. But what I am supposed to think now? What am I supposed to think, when he wakes me up from a dead sleep, making love to me? That _is_ what it was, I know. It wasn't angry fucking. It was tender and sweet and wonderful.

Sitting up in bed, I remember that I partially spilled my song in the night. I didn’t intend to—and I did my best to pull it back, rein it in. I just wasn’t able to completely. It felt more like he pulled it from me. It feels almost violent to remember—as tender as his touch was, he yanked that song from me the moment he heard it, grabbing onto the thread of melody and the burst of light. I wonder if he knows what the magical glow that accompanies my song is.

Tempted to shame myself for letting my guard down and being defenseless, I feel annoyed with myself. Am I so desperate that I can’t wait till we are on our honeymoon to share that part with him? At least he didn’t experience the full force of my song—not yet. So I still have that card up my sleeve. I wonder if I will be able to maintain his interest, the way things are going.

I flop back on the bed, the back of my hand over my eyes. I mean, the song is _his_. My body is _his_. If the madam was right about anything, my heart and soul are already _his_. So why am I withholding?

It’s because I’m afraid. I’m scared he will take all I have and offer me nothing in return. He won’t even show me what’s under that eyepatch! I’m expected to submit and give him all of myself, all of my trust, all of my body. And he isn’t required to reciprocate. It hurts deep inside my heart.

A burst of anger floods my chest when I remember visiting his office yesterday. How he looked at me as if I were being _rebellious_ —as if he expected me to obey him, waiting in our bedroom (he’d probably still thinks of it as _his_ bedroom) like a pet waiting for its master. It brings out the very worst in me—the brattiest parts of me, the arrogant, haughty parts that I’d rather not admit I have.

Worse still, it turns me on. Remembering how angry he was for interrupting his work sends waves of arousal to my groin. I groan in irritation and climb out of bed. This can’t be healthy.

It’s early for me to get up—but I plan to check out my husband’s training regimen. I long to see how his body moves in battle—and my cock irritatingly stiffens at the thought—but once I am standing, pain shoots through my body quite suddenly.

My training prepared me for this. I _expected_ this. I knew regular sex would be an adjustment, even if we didn't have such a large difference in stature. But I cannot afford to allow a single day to pass in which I fail in my duty. My reliability and willingness to give my body to him signify my loyalty and cement a place by his side and hopefully, eventually, in his heart, despite his warning on our wedding night.

As much as I’d love to soak in the bath, I rush through a quick shower. Since I’m up so early, there is no food cart waiting for me. I pull on some clothes—dark jeans and a soft shirt—and head out the door, trying my best not to limp. It’s still pretty early. Hopefully, I will be able to catch some of my husband’s training.

I’m alone in the elevator, left to my thoughts. I exit on the training floor and wander over to the practice rooms. I hear the clash of swords—again, making me long for my favorite blade from home but knowing there is no way I would have been allowed to bring it with me.

“Again.”

It’s him. I recognize my husband’s baritone—gravelly and oddly excited. I approach the corner of the larger training area, hiding from his view specifically. This morning, he is sparring with the duke.

A handful of spectators—military dressed in PT gear—watch the fight. I doubt I’d be able to blend in, so I hang off to the side, leaning against the wall, trying not to stand out. And then I settle in and observe.

My husband is _captivating_. First, he fights with two swords—a longsword and a dagger. He moves with the practice of a seasoned swordsman, which is slightly odd, considering his age and that he rules this kingdom. Perhaps he is naturally talented. But part of me thinks that while he does have considerable natural talent, he was probably pushed to exceed expectations from a young age.

The idea of my husband—the stern king—ever having been a child, or helpless by any stretch of the imagination, seems utterly unfathomable. Of course, he was a child once. But I can’t picture it. I long to see photos, and I consider asking Sei or Aoba for a family album.

Koujaku is good with that giant broadsword of his. But his movements, even as smooth and practiced as they are, don’t compare to the way Rai moves—like he’s underwater or dancing. He’s utterly captivating and I can’t tear my eyes away.

I am so distracted by his movements—aroused by the sight of sweat beading on his forehead, his muscles flexing, his hair and tail streaming behind him—that I watch the entire match. He disarms the duke, using the dagger as a shield.

The two are fairly evenly matched, but the grace with which the king moves is astounding. As I watch, I can’t decide whether I’d prefer to fight him or fuck him. It’s a little strange—this mix of feelings. It probably fits with the mix of anger and arousal I can't avoid whenever I see him. I've loved sword training for as long as I can remember, but I don’t remember ever getting hard watching a spar before. Maybe it’s because it’s _him_ and this complicated mess of angry arousal that I feel for him.

He is smiling in a way I rarely see—a smile he has not reserved for me—when he heads over to the duke to help him up and pull him into a rough, brotherly hug. At that point, I am at risk of being caught, so I hustle toward the elevator, using as stealthy steps as I possibly can. Smashing the button for my floor, I take several deep breaths, trying to calm myself.

It isn’t as though I wasn’t warned. Madam warned me that once I started having sex, I would only want more. I experienced this during my training, too. But good lord, this is ridiculous!

I’m relieved once I get back to our room. I’m sore—quite sore—even still, so I head to the bath for a nice soak. A soft knock at the door interrupts me, and I call out, “Please enter.” It’s the breakfast cart. I wave at the server who comes in.

“Thank you so much,” I call from the bubble bath.

“I’m so sorry for interrupting, Your Grace!” The poor boy is utterly flustered to find me in the bath.

“No, no,” I encourage him, waving off his embarrassment. “I’m starving!”

He sputters a little, apologizing for the intrusion, and keeps his eyes averted. I mean, I’m in the tub. He can’t see me since I’m submerged. I feel a little bad about leaving the door open, but I don’t worry about it too much. He leaves the cart and departs with a swift bow, and I climb out of the tub to tuck in for breakfast.

* * *

After breakfast, realizing I’m still pretty sore, I consider my options for the day. I think we are scheduled to depart for our honeymoon tomorrow—but Setsura tends to count their days a little differently than we did in Karou. Whenever I am told that something will happen two days from now, I’m never sure if the current day is counted or not. At any rate, I should do something productive with my time.

First, I should probably take care of my body. I’ve already tried a bath, and it didn’t help as much as I hoped. Perhaps it would be wise to resort to one of my toys to help prepare me for our next sexual encounter. The madam worked me up to penetration using a series of plugs, explaining that regular use would soften my muscles and train them. It makes sense that if I wore one all day, it might make the day after slightly less painful.

I spend some time in bed—stripping down to my skin—working in a reasonably-sized plug. I play with it a little, imagining my husband’s handsome face and his gorgeous body, getting a little carried away when I remember his sword work. I don’t bring myself to orgasm. I was taught that it’s better to refrain from masturbating and save my desire for my husband instead, especially at the beginning of our relationship.

The plug I choose is pretty comfortable—a moderate weight inside my body—but I feel just a little dirty when I pull on my clothes over it. I intend to head to my office and work with Aoba on setting it up. I check the mirror first—making sure I can walk easily and that wearing something like this under my clothes is discreet. Even if my husband would be turned on, knowing I have been preparing myself for him all day, I don’t want to expose the details of our relationship to others around me.

Once I’m satisfied with my look, I leave the bedroom and head to my office. I’m pleased to find Aoba waiting there, paging through a stack of office furniture catalogs.

“Your Grace!”

“It’s Konoe, please,” I remind him with a smile, settling myself onto the couch and glancing at his work.

“Oh, of course. I’m so sorry.”

I wave off his apology.

“Good morning,” I start over. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Well, I was just looking through some of the options for your office. I’d love your input.”

“Of course.”

Choosing office furniture and supplies is the perfect way to spend my day. I chat casually—including the fact that I peeked in on Rai’s training this morning.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Actually, I _would_ enjoy it,” I admit. “I’d love to pick up sword training again.”

Aoba smiles and assures me he will look into getting a weapon for me to use. We spend the morning looking through catalogs, and we share a catered lunch in the office. The rest of the afternoon is spent choosing paint colors, fabrics, and the rest of the supplies we will need for the office.

I’ve never had an office before—and I’m thrilled to think I might be able to make a difference in this kingdom. Even if I only take over charitable organizations and causes, this is a big deal to me. It will affect a lot of people personally and be life-changing for many, not to mention lighten Rai's workload. Aoba gives me a list of causes he thinks might be of interest and by the end of the afternoon, I have a lot to think about.

We both leave around 5 PM. I head back to my room to remove the plug and prepare my body a little more thoroughly. I also make a call to the kitchens, asking for a light meal for two that is easily transported. I’m almost certain the king will be working late tonight—since I checked with Sei—and I plan to surprise my husband with dinner in his office.

Though the jeans I was wearing were fine, I’ve slipped into something more comfortable. Now I’m in sweatpants and a t-shirt, slipping my bare feet into slippers. Yes, I've skipped any underwear. The dinner arrives in a small basket, easy to carry. It includes a bottle of red wine.

After eating my share and a glass of wine, I carry Rai’s dinner, the opened bottle of wine, and two glasses down to his office. The palace is pretty quiet this time of night. Perhaps the staff makes itself scarce for my privacy and adjustment, but it’s a little spooky. I feel a little like I should be wearing a red hood while carrying the picnic dinner to Rai’s office—like a fairytale character.

I can’t help being slightly irritated that Rai is still working so late. He left before I woke at dawn, so he’s been away for at least fourteen hours. It’s ridiculous. However, I manage to control myself after a few deep breaths. This is _his_ life, _his_ work. I’m a new addition and of course, it will be an adjustment to make time for me. That, I tell myself, is why a honeymoon is in order. After that, I will try to help him manage his projects and time and figure out if there is a way to reduce his workload.

Relaxed by the time the elevator reaches Rai’s office, I’m pleased to see that the floor is deserted. Even if there were still workers here, it would not deter me from my task—which is a) to feed my husband and b) seduce him. Sei has left for the day, and I admire how neat his desk is. Somehow, I can’t imagine Aoba being quite so fastidious. And he mentioned they were twins. Weird.

I walk up to Rai’s closed office door and knock once before opening it. I have a pleasant, neutral smile on my face when I walk in, meeting the sharp, icy glare of my husband. Inwardly, part of me shies away from that harsh look, but it’s to be expected. He has no reason to trust me or assume I’m loyal at this point. I am careful not to let my worry show on my face.

“Hello,” I greet him, letting my smile widen.

**Rai:**

The knock on my office door surprises me. I glance up at the clock, and it’s a little after 8 PM. I know Sei went several hours ago, so I’m a bit annoyed by the interruption. I have had another unproductive day, mostly because I haven’t been able to get the wonderful song I heard last night out of my head.

Is Konoe a Sanga? From what I remember, the gift is inborn. I did a little research online about Karou royalty today. Two centuries ago, there was a line of Karou royalty born as Sanga. They were coveted as mates for warlords and aggressive countries since their gift increases the power of a warrior. Now, however—due to the rise of technology, in the majority opinion—Sanga births have declined. Although, it occurs to me that if all of Sisa were aware that Sanga are still found in Karou, it would make the small kingdom a target for both alliances and attack. It makes sense to keep it secret.

I am even more surprised that the door to my office opens even before I invite the visitor in. Of course, it’s the prince consort. He’s dressed in what looks like sleepwear to me—even wearing his slippers, his hair softly tousled as if he’s been rolling around in the sheets. And gods, I need to stop this line of thought right now if I’m going to maintain my dignity and self-control and get any more work done tonight.

“Hello,” he purrs in his soft voice—it’s the bedroom voice, surely, which both unnerves and delights me.

I don’t like being interrupted in general. He is my husband, yes. But he is no ruler. He has some nerve showing up here unannounced. (But does he, really? Isn’t this what married partners do? Maybe it is natural that he’d feel free to intrude on my office domain as he likes. And if I’m honest, I’m not exactly displeased to see him, not with his hair and fur ruffled and that soft bedroom voice purring so temptingly.)

“I brought you dinner.” He walks in carrying a basket, looking strangely like Little Red Riding Hood and making me feel like the wolf. And Ribika! That image is _way_ too tempting all on its own.

“That wasn’t necessary,” I reply brusquely, looking down at my desk, covered with papers for me to sign. I’m way more disorganized than usual, just because of how distracted I’ve been.

“I know,” he replies. “I just want to be sure you’re taking the time to eat.”

Boldly, he approaches my desk and sets the basket down, unpacking what looks like a light picnic dinner. It looks good—a sandwich, fruit salad, a bottle of wine.

“I don’t require your caretaking.” Of course, that is the _perfect_ moment for my stomach to audibly protest. I skipped lunch today, mostly out of distraction, and I look down quickly to hide the heat in my cheeks.

He chuckles softly—knowingly—and continues to arrange the food and push it toward me. He opens the wine—I notice a serving is already missing from the bottle—and he pours two glasses.

“I know you don’t. I wanted to.” He walks closer to me and takes my pen from me, replacing it with a glass of wine. He also brings the sandwich up closer to me. “You work so hard. I worry you are overdoing it, and I wanted to help.”

Sighing in feigned annoyance, I watch as he returns to a chair opposite my desk, sipping his own glass.

“You’re not going to join me?” I've given in to the meal now and feel a little manipulated.

“I was hungry earlier and already ate,” he says lightly. “Please, go ahead. I’ll enjoy my wine.”

Well aware of my childish huffiness—and heavily annoyed by it—I begrudgingly take a bite of the sandwich and drink the wine. It’s good—just what I wanted, I think.

“You don’t have to wait up for me,” I say, once I swallow the food in my mouth.

“I know. I wanted to.” He slips his feet out of his slippers, curling up onto the chair. He looks utterly comfortable lounging there, almost as if that chair is his home. There’s something incredibly enticing about looking at him, relaxed, drinking wine, bare-footed, in my office. My heart feels oddly warm. I didn’t know this would be a side effect of marriage.

I eat in silence as he chatters lightly about his day. I think he knows I enjoy the sound of his voice. I don’t interrupt him. There’s something musical about it—I noticed that magical tone the first time he ever opened his mouth.

Is that how his voice works, as a Sanga? It’s captivating—drawing me in despite my resistance. Or is it deliberate? Is he deliberately seducing me?

As I eat, I watch him a little more closely. His cheeks are slightly flushed, becoming pinker with each sip from his glass. He’s elegant, poised, composed, and confident, even if slightly tipsy. That confidence—bordering on haughtiness—is considerably compelling. It makes something in my chest rise—something that wants to wring that attitude out of him until he begs for mercy.

“Is your work going as planned?” He asks, after telling me about his day with Aoba.

“No, actually,” I admit with another sigh. “I was hoping to get a lot more done. I’ve just been distracted.”

I stop before I say anything else, especially when his ears twitch with interest and he jerks his chin up toward me. He acts as if he can hear what I haven’t said, and he hones in on it like a predator.

“Oh?” Small and sharp pearly fangs peek out from his lips.

I ignore it, for now, moving on from the sandwich to the fruit salad. It’s delicious—light and refreshing, not too heavy.

“What’s been distracting you?” His lips curve up, and I don’t deign the question with an answer.

“I know why you’re here,” I say instead, looking up to meet his honeyed gaze.

He startles a little but composes himself right away.

“Do you,” he says rather than asks. He shifts a little in his chair. I can see an obvious erection in his pants and I wonder if he's wearing underwear before pushing the thought away.

“I do.” After a short pause, I continue, “I can’t believe that such thoroughbred royalty has so little patience.”

He huffs, offended, looking away for a minute before he replies.

“Well, why am I here?”

I look at him directly again, unable to keep a smirk from my lips.

“Why should I tell you?”

He rolls his eyes in irritation. He’s annoyed.

“You’re _impossible_ ,” he says, almost under his breath, then he meets my gaze again. “If you know what I want, why not make it easier for me?”

“Why would I?” I lean back in my chair, having finished the dinner and taking a sip of wine, hiding a smirk of my own. “If it’s something you want, perhaps you ought to help yourself. I’m sure you are used to having others cater to your needs. I don’t see a reason to encourage that bad habit.”

Anger flares up in an instant—the prince consort is much more hot-headed than I’d ever expected. I find it arousing.

“You have _no_ idea what I’m used to,” he growls. It’s possible I find his angry growl slightly too amusing for his taste. He pulls himself off the chair and strides to the door. I’m sure he’s going to leave in a huff—but he doesn’t. Instead, he locks it and turns to face me, that familiar haughty expression on his face. “Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.”

His confidence is rather amazing—considering the difference in our rank and experience. He strides over to my chair, stripping off his t-shirt overhead in a single, graceful movement. I suppress the urge to admire his fine form openly, settling for a silent, appraising gaze.

I wonder—just now—if he had to practice stripping as part of his training. My gods—the thought is _so_ hot...

But I don’t have a chance to wonder when he plops his compact body down on my lap, straddling me, pulling me into a rough kiss. He nips my bottom lip before delving his tongue aggressively in my mouth as if rebuking me. I don’t hate it—I don’t hate his defiance or his haughty attitude. But this aggressive kissing is making me want to put him in his place.

When he pulls back, still on my lap, his lips are swollen and pink, his eyes glazed with lust. I smirk deviously and lean back in my chair. I’m not going to help him.

“What?” I ask. “Go on.”

He huffs angrily and stands up. Again, when I expect him to leave, to march out of the door, he surprises me. Instead of leaving, he boldly strips off his pants and drops them on the floor. I still don’t move—and yes, I recognize I’m being a bit of an asshole, but I can’t seem to stop provoking him. Plus I'm distracted by his nudity. I was correct in assuming he'd forgone his underwear.

Not even when he drops to his knees in front of my chair and tugs on my belt, loosening it from my pants do I give in. He huffs against the crotch of my pants, all the while maintaining eye contact. There’s not a moment of hesitation—only raw heat and anger, mixing with lust. My cock responds in an instant and a soft sound escapes my mouth before I can hold it back. He grins up at me, wearing that haughty expression.

He works open the fly on my pants and pulls out my cock, licking the head and smashing his lips into the slit. It feels amazing, a melting heat flooding my groin. At this point, I don’t think he should still be able to surprise me, but he does. I relax back in my chair, realizing I’ve always kept my office solely for work—not once have I ever used it for sex. The experience is surreal—but once the prince consort wraps plush lips around my cock and sucks it into his mouth, I lose my train of thought.

It makes logical sense that he’d take me in his mouth. Considering that his inexperienced body has been well-used for the past few days, I’m sure he’s sore. It is really enjoyable—made even more enjoyable by his constant, unwavering eye contact. It feels like he is putting on a show, except for the gleam in his eyes. Those long lashes flutter with desire and lust as if he _wants_ to touch me this way, rather than seeing my pleasure as his duty.

Looking down at him, he doesn’t tear his eyes away from me for a moment. My body relaxes into the touch, but I don’t stay relaxed for long. He lightens the touch with his tongue, increases suction, and starts to bob his head. That’s enough to make me want to dig my hands in his hair and thrust into his mouth.

Before I can—in fact, the moment I reach for his hair—he pulls off with a pop and a haughty smirk. Even his arrogant expression is arousing. I find it a delightful mix of gorgeous, sexy, and irritating. The desire to bend him over my desk and fuck him till he can’t walk climbs in my gut. But I don’t get the chance.

He pushes my chair away from my desk, and it rolls easily. Then he stands up, turns around, and backs up into my lap. Spreading his legs wide, he straddles me facing the window, lining up my cock with his entrance. He takes a deep breath before he sinks onto my cock on the exhale. He manages to startle a pleasured gasp from my lips when I sink into his welcoming body, though he isn’t moving very quickly. He’s hot and slick inside, gripping my cock for all he’s worth. But when I look over his shoulder, I see his reflection in the window, and he is meeting my gaze and watching my every move.

A molten look in his eyes and an expression mixed with pleasure (and a little pain) greets me. Thank the gods my office is on a high floor in this isolated palace. Even so—the fact that he does this regardless of his surroundings shows confidence. He rides me slow and hard, moving his hips in sensuous thrusts and circling them gently.

At this rate, I won’t last long—and he’s not in any better shape. When he starts moving his hips faster, bracing his hands on my thighs—still covered in slacks—I can’t help myself. I reach under his arms, caressing his bare chest, pinching his nipples, and caressing his abs, watching ecstasy bloom on his face.

He doesn’t speak, and the reflection in the window shows his eyelids fluttering. He leans back against my chest. He is completely naked, and I am still almost entirely dressed, save for my cock. Yet somehow, the power imbalance that I feel should be there isn't. I pull him flush against my chest, gliding both hands down his sides, enjoying his shiver. He’s making soft gasps and sighs, and his body is damp with sweat. His scent is wonderful—warm and sweet and summery—and I kiss, lick, and nip the juncture between his shoulder and neck, still watching our reflection in the mirror.

His cock is gorgeous—flushed and aroused, bobbing with every movement—begging for attention. When I finally ghost over his tip, he tightens around me. It’s nearly too much, but I can’t resist repeating the action.

While he moves slowly, fucking himself on me, he’s nowhere near gentle. I watch his thighs flex with his abdomen. Placing his hands over mine, he guides them to his erection, letting out a filthy moan when I touch him, clenching around me once more.

His lashes fan against his cheeks when he closes his eyes, but he never lets up the slow, seductive pace. It’s close to maddening. When he tilts his hips just so on the next thrust, I can tell I’ve hit his prostate, and he lets out a sound close to a scream. His body is vibrating with the song that woke me up last night. But he’s holding it back as if he doesn't want to give in to me.

More than anything, I _want_ this cat. I want him to give _all_ of himself to me. I want to claim _every_ inch of his body. And I want to stand up and bend him over, thrusting into him hard and rough—but he is insistent on this torturous pace. I allow it—letting him do what he has been trained to do and trying not to think about how much I want it, how much I want _him_ —his body, his soul, his song, his heart.

My breath picks up now that he is milking my cock for all it’s worth, and I feel a flutter in my chest. He opens his eyes again, watching me in the mirror with a strikingly powerful gaze. It feels almost as if _he_ is fucking _me_ , rather than the other way around. It’s incredibly hot and attractive. When his moans increase to something just shy of screams, I wrap my fingers around his cock and squeeze, gliding them up and down on the velvety flesh.

“ _Rai_...”

Hearing my name from his lips sends a fresh wave of arousal through my body, the back of my neck tingling with pleasure and bristling my fur. I meet his thrusts—as much as he will allow. I am struggling to stay seated, struggling not to stand up and take him at my own pace, but soon I don’t need to do much more.

The soft, purring vibration from his body pulses gently, and a strange feeling attacks my mind and heart, filling me with warmth from the inside. A Sanga, I think. He _must_ be a Sanga.

He urges me to match his pace with my hand on his cock. Soon, the pressure with each thrust surrounds me with such an incredible need that I let go. I feel it when he climaxes, and I watch his reflection, indulging in the sensation as his cock stiffens gorgeously and spills. His hand covers his tip, catching his release as opposed to spilling it over the papers on my desk. He looks up to meet my gaze in the reflection while he comes.

I have no choice but to follow, spilling deep inside his tight warmth, letting out a soft, satisfied purring growl as I do. He is finished, but he still rides me out. I feel his oversensitive insides gripping me, watching his pleasured expression melt into overstimulation and eagerness to please. It’s glorious.

When we both finally come to a stop, he is sweaty and sticky. I watch in the window when he lifts his fingers to his mouth, licking off his own cum as he meets my eye. It’s a filthy image, sending a violent shiver down my spine. Growling, I pull his hand away from his lips and bring it to my own, kissing his fingers and licking them clean. He tastes sweet—not salty or briny. It’s rather delicious.

“Mmmm,” he hums softly, watching me in the reflection, satisfied heat in his eyes.

While his body is relaxed and heavy, he uses his remaining energy to pull himself off of me—managing to clench his ass so as not to drip even a single drop on my lap or my clothes. I let out a soft sigh when my softening cock slips out. His skin shines in the fluorescent light of the office. It shouldn’t be a flattering light for anyone, but I’ve never seen such an attractive creature in my life. He looks like an ethereal creature, like an incubus.

Legs wobbling cutely—like a newborn fawn—he leans against the desk while slipping on his pants, all the while meeting my gaze in the reflection. A thin pearl-white trail of seed shimmers between his thighs. That smirk—the knowing, satisfied haughty look with which I am getting all-to-familiar—plays at his lips. I should be annoyed by his expression, but I only see a tender, satisfied look on my face in our reflection.

He pulls on his t-shirt and then turns to me, leaning in to kiss my lips. He intends a soft, chaste kiss, but I deepen it, tasting him and letting him taste himself on my tongue. He gives a startled but pleased gasp and leans in just the same. When he pulls away, he slips his bare feet into his slippers and gathers up the remains of the picnic dinner he delivered.

I could get used to this sort of delivered dinner, I think, watching his heaving chest and his sweats stretched snugly over a perfect, round ass. I can't help thinking that my cum is most likely leaking down his legs beneath the fabric. It's as if I've marked him.

“I don’t want you to think that I am condoning these late hours,” he says, his voice softly rebuking yet sexy and fucked out. “But I understand you have a lot to do between now and tomorrow.”

He leans in toward me again, stroking the fur on my ears and clawing gently through my hair. Then he tucks my spent cock back into my pants—using a familiar touch as though he were touching my hand. He zips me up and buckles my belt, giving my lap an affectionate pat. His smirking grin meets my gaze, and his eyes are hazed with pleasure. I’m sure he is resisting his desire to curl up on my floor and sleep—and for a moment, he looks at my lap with longing, the smirk fading for just a second.

“Don’t work too late,” he whispers, kissing the tips of my ears.

With that, having cleaned up everything he brought with him back into the basket, he turns on his heel and walks out the door, not without throwing that knowing, haughty look over his shoulder. It makes me want to fuck him hard, again and again, to wipe that look off his face.

I am pleased to see he is limping slightly and his legs are awfully unsteady. The door clicks behind him softly, and he leaves me utterly satisfied. My work is suddenly not nearly as appealing as it was before he arrived. Instead, I make plans on how I might replace that arrogant look on his face over the next week.


	15. The Photos and the Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rai wakes early the following morning and meets with some disturbing news on the day he and his husband are leaving for their honeymoon.
> 
> The newlyweds manage to leave just the same. Of course, they don’t wait to arrive at their destination before indulging.
> 
> CW: explicit consensual sex, oral sex, overstimulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have become slightly distracted with the FFVII fandom. But no, I have not forgotten these stories and still plan to continue them all.

The plan is to leave early morning. We will travel to the port by car and then by yacht to our destination. It will be less than a day’s drip from the palace, just in case of an emergency.

It was a little strange to come home late last night to find a sleeping prince consort in my bed, but I confess I didn’t mind that he’d warmed up the sheets. He was sprawled out in the middle of the bed, splayed out like a starfish, and tangled in the blankets. I didn’t mind nearly as much as I thought I would. He sleeps soundly and he smells so nice. Cuddling up behind him felt like a balm to my soul.

The next morning, I rise even earlier than usual. I want to get in a quick spar before we leave. However, when I arrive on the training floor, Koujaku, Sei, and Aoba are waiting for me. They look nervous.

“Your Majesty,” Sei begins. I know it’s serious because he’s using my formal title. “There’s been an incident.”

“Yes?”

“It seems the press has got hold of some unauthorized photos of the prince consort.”

I don’t say anything. I’ve never been on friendly terms with the press. I appreciate the media and news organizations, but my personal life is not newsworthy. Something inside me bristles that my husband will suffer the same treatment. But Sei just waits and Koujaku shifts nervously from foot to foot. Aoba won't meet my gaze.

“Go on,” I urge him.

“Sire—”

“Rai, don’t overreact,” Koujaku interrupts and I glare up sharply at him.

“What sort of pictures?”

“Your Majesty, it’s probably best to just show you.”

“Let's see, then,” I insist, my nerves rising.

Aoba holds out a paper to me. It’s a tabloid—one that I’ve had issues with in the past. It is known to pay very well for photos of royalty and has been a thorn in my side ever since I first came to the throne. The front page has a close-up picture of the prince consort. It’s a good picture—he’s smiling handsomely—and I recognize the expression as one reserved for me. Perhaps it was taken the day of our wedding. However, it’s the headline above the photo that sears itself into my vision: “Exclusive photos of Setsura's handsome consort—Nude!”

My hands tremble with rage as I rifle through the pages of the shitty gossip rag, only to find myself utterly stunned by the first full-page photo on display. It’s my prince consort, all right, displayed only in his creamy skin while wading through a pool. The shot is well-focused and even the dingy ink doesn’t detract from his beauty. That beauty belongs to _me_ —and me alone.

“What the hell...” I turn the page to find a few more shots—some more and less risqué, obviously taken from outside the Palace of Exchange through the windows of his suite. The consort eating breakfast, exercising, getting dressed—even climbing out of the bath. My rage boils over when I see another naked shot. “How the hell did this happen?”

“Rai—we’re working on it,” Koujaku says.

“That Exchange Ceremony was supposed to be _private_! No press was allowed!” I’m surprised by the vehemence in my tone. “The prince consort is a public figure but surely, the media knows better than to invade a royal’s privacy this way!”

“Yes, sir,” Sei continues. “It’s under investigation. As you know, the papers have a right to publish.”

“They do _not_ have the right to publish explicit photos of my consort!” I snap. “Get me on the phone with this rag’s editor.”

“Rai, let us deal with it. You have other things to attend to—and you should attend them, or _him_ , I should say,” Koujaku urges.

“He hasn’t heard,” I don’t ask, but I glare at Aoba.

“Your Highness, he is still sleeping. He’s so new here and it would surely upset him,” Aoba says. “Would you like me to tell him before your, um, trip?”

I sigh heavily. What are the chances that he will see a tabloid during the next week? Probably slim. Maybe this can wait till we return.

“I think that would be best to wait, for his benefit and yours, Rai,” Koujaku says, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“I didn’t know you cared,” I reply flippantly. The duke has the gall to look offended. “I’d still like to speak to the editor.”

“I might arrange an in-person meeting for when you return?” Sei suggests, lifting a clever eyebrow. “Perhaps here, in your office?”

“Fantastic,” I agree. There is a reason that man is my assistant. At least he can keep a cool head when I’m ready to tear someone a new asshole.

“Sir,” Aoba says softly, “please keep the prince consort away from newsstands. He would be devastated if he found out.”

“They will be fine,” Koujaku interrupts. “Just get ready and go. You leave soon, right? Would you like one of us to make sure he is awake?”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, turning on my heel.

Instead of the elevators, I take the stairs. I’m pissed as hell—the nerve of that newspaper, storming into his life—my consort’s life—and airing out photos of his gorgeous, naked body has me raging inside in a way I can’t quite explain. I’ve never felt this much rage on behalf of another person. It's normal, I try to tell myself, trying to ignore the memory of the soft song that spilled from his lips during sleepy sex two nights ago.

By the time I reach our floor—and since when do I consider it _ours_? I even think of it as _our_ chamber, too—I’ve cooled off enough to maintain my composure. I have no idea how he might react if he saw the photos. Surely, he isn’t one to walk the streets and peruse questionable media. He was born royal. I’m sure he’s used to ignoring tabloids.

I push open the door, pleased to find the prince getting dressed.

“Hello,” his enchanting voice creeps into my ears. “You’re back early.”

When did his voice become so distracting? Well, over the next week, I will get to the bottom of that magic simmering beneath his skin.

“Good morning,” I say. “I trust you slept well?”

“I did, thank you. Did you work very late?”

“Just to finish up my tasks. The car is ready whenever we are.”

“All right,” he nods. “Is there, um, anything I should bring?”

I shake my head.

“It’s all been handled.”

I get a questioning look, sort of embarrassed, which is odd from him.

“I mean, um, in the way of, um, toiletries?”

I’m sure he’s talking specifically about lubricant and I turn away to hide a smile.

“It’s all been handled,” I repeat, struggling to keep my voice even. I do wonder—will I be permitted to participate in his preparations? I am oddly excited about that. I’d love to just watch, I think, even if he didn’t wish me to help. And gods, we have a long day ahead of us. I ought to watch my train of thought.

When I turn around, he’s finished tying his shoes. He’s dressed in casual, athletic wear that still manages to make him look royal. I find myself slightly envious of how easily his rank comes to him, but I nod and offer him an arm.

He looks up, shocked, but offers a shy smile and takes my arm without hesitation.

“Let’s go.” I walk him to the elevators, hoping to avoid any staff on our way.

**Konoe:**

When we get into the car, something between Rai and me feels different. I’m excited to be out of the palace and exploring the new country to which I belong. But Rai seems a little off. Not angry, I don’t think. He’s not wearing that annoyed scowl he’s so fond of throwing at me and that I take such pleasure wiping (or kissing or fucking) from his face. This looks like concern.

So I peel myself away from the wonderful view of the city and I ask him.

“Did something happen? Are you all right?”

And just the question—or perhaps the fact that I indicated an interest in his well-being—softens his expression. For Ribika’s sake, he should know by now that I take his well-being very seriously.

“I’m fine. It’s nice to see you enjoying yourself.”

“We’re going to the beach! Where? Right here in the city?”

“Oh, no, kitten.” Him calling me that particular pet name is arousing. Arousing enough so I glance around in the car and wonder if the glass between our compartment and the driver is sound-proof. And also, how long the ride will be. “We will be taking a yacht to our destination.”

“A yacht?!” I mean, I first arrived on a ship. It was my first time at sea, and it was gorgeous. Stifling, perhaps, to be stuck on a boat for so many weeks when a flight would have been faster, but still wonderful.

“I’m pleased you look excited by the prospect.”

Damn it. I just ask my question, directly.

“So, is the, um, car ride going to be a very long car ride?”

“Not at all. About fifteen minutes.”

“Oh,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. He gives me a strange look, followed immediately by a smug smirk.

“You really _have_ been trained well, kitten.” It seems he noticed my response to the nickname.

“Shut up,” I reply, mildly irritated, but I still tip my eyes up from under my lashes and blink them slowly. I also crawl across the seat on my knees, settling in right next to him, and whispering in his ear, “I know you love it.”

I get a chuckle in response.

“Kitten, we are in for an interesting week if this is how you’re starting.”

“Your Highness,” I say crisply, “it is the _point_ of the honeymoon.”

“This is not a PR event?”

“Well,” I concede. “Sure, that could also be part of it. Your people want to see you. They want to see you in lo-” I cut myself off, an icy feeling sliding down my spine at the memory of Rai’s talk of love during our first night together. I don’t want to ruin what we’ve built so far, so I quickly correct myself. “They want to see _us_. They want to meet me. They want to see you _happy_.”

I chance a quick peek at my husband, and I’m a little surprised by the softness in his face. Even more surprising is the warm hand skating down my neck and back, tracing the path of the imagined iciness exactly. It’s confusing, but not unpleasant. I figure I should take advantage.

No, fifteen minutes isn’t enough time for us to have intercourse. I should have prepared earlier this morning. But I manage to get in a pretty good make-out session before we arrive. And though I instigate, he certainly doesn’t discourage me.

Huh. Maybe he appreciated my direct approach last night more than I realized.

**Rai:**

I swear he’s doing it on purpose. I’d have fucked him in the limo if he’d gone even a little further than kissing. I suspect the only thing holding him back is knowing that a crowd will be waiting at the port. As it is, after the aggressive kissing, biting, nipping, and licking, my hair is a little messy, and both our shirts are slightly rumpled. He looks utterly gorgeous—eyes half-lidded, all sparkling and soft in the early morning light, his hair sex-mussed. Perhaps we could take a moment in the limo. Perhaps the windows are tinted enough...

And then I remember those photos from that goddamned tabloid. I won’t be adding fuel to their fire.

A “crowd” is putting it mildly. This looks as crowded as when we got married! I will never understand the fascination this country has with royalty. I should be thankful, I suppose, since no one complained when I took the throne with such a slim heritage linking me to the previous king. Oh, I remember the headlines, proclaiming that the new king “looks the part.” For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel disgusted for my physical attributes getting more attention than they deserved. Perhaps keeping my hair long was a good choice for positive PR.

“Kitten,” I murmur against his lips. “We’ve arrived.” I run my fingers through his hair as if straightening it, but I’m actually messing it up a little more. His lips are swollen and red, and his cheeks and the base of his ears are flushed. He looks adorable and so perfectly innocent. Maybe that’s what I find so utterly fascinating. He is not as he appears. He may look like a precious, innocent angel, but he’s a sexy beast underneath that cuteness.

A protesting whine escapes his lips as he pulls away, still flashing his molten eyes at me. I have an extreme urge to lick his ears—but then I collect myself. I just have to get us both from the crowd to the yacht—where we have _private_ quarters.

I open the door and climb out of the limo, stiffly waving to the people gathered to wish us well—or stick their noses into our bedroom—and I graciously hand the prince consort out of the car. He seems a little surprised by all the people and offers them his royal-prince smile. He waves but also pulls me right along with him as we walk briskly to the dock.

As we go, I realize that all the force propelling me to the yacht is coming from his compact figure. At the same time, I notice he is making it look like I am leading and he is following. He also spares me an occasional, almost worried glance, and shares that secret sexy smile he reserves for me when he isn’t being a brat. He soothes my hand, rubbing his fingers in small circles against my palm, as he continues to wave and call out, “Thank you so much!”

Even once we are safely on the dock and I help him onto the yacht, he looks so natural—like this is normal, this is what he deals with every day. He looks like he’s in his habitat—in his element. It’s almost impressive.

Well. If I’m honest, it’s _quite_ impressive.

I’m pleased to see that the yacht crew is minimal. They greet us formally, despite our casual appearance. The kitten stays on deck till the yacht pulls away from the dock. He waves and smiles happily, but leaves me to inspect the yacht as he seems to know I’m uncomfortable with crowds.

The living quarters are very nice. While it’s a medium-sized yacht—elegant and refined—the cabin above deck is wonderfully private. You can’t hear much from inside, and that’s when it occurs to me. Perhaps this would be the perfect time to finish what he started in the limo.

I take a seat on the elegant bed, a king-sized monstrosity decked out in luxurious bedsheets, crossing my legs and waiting patiently. I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long. There’s a shy knock at the door and he enters.

“Rai?” He asks softly, as his eyes adjust to the dark. It’s odd—I’ve never met a cat whose eyes take so long to adjust to dim spaces. Maybe it’s from mountain air? Karou is further north than any part of Setsura. Perhaps there isn’t much daylight, or the dusks are longer.

“Prince Consort,” I say, and he shrinks back just a little. “What is it? Did I frighten you?”

“Of course not, sir,” he says, still slightly formal. He approaches the bed suspiciously, once he can see. “Were you waiting for me?”

“I was.”

“Um,” he says, just a little hesitant now. “I hope I did not offend you or presume too much.”

“At which point?”

That startles a jerk from his chin, and he looks directly at my face. I can’t quite read his expression, but it’s a mix of surprise and annoyance, I think, though traces of affection remain.

“I meant in the car?” He replies very softly.

I chuckle, and he releases the tension from his body. Perhaps he didn’t realize I was teasing. I reach my hand out to his arm and pull him close. I want to touch him, reassure him. I want to make him come completely undone.

“Well, kitten,” I murmur directly into his chest, which I’ve pulled up against me. “You _have_ been quite presumptuous since your arrival. In the bedroom, in the shower, in my office, in the car. I don’t mind.”

“I’m glad.” He lets out a breath and sounds more relaxed.

“Join me?” I offer—and another strange mixed expression appears on his face. “You seemed interested,” I add.

“Oh, um, yes—I was—I _am_ —I just, um,” he glances around the room a little desperately. He looks nervous. “I’m not quite prepared. Would you give me a little time?”

“I would be happy to,” I say, adding quickly, “However, would you consider accepting my assistance? In your preparations?”

Again, that little surprised look crosses his face before melting into delight.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you, sir,” he says, a touch of sweet shyness in his voice.

“I wouldn’t offer if it were troubling,” I reply. “No pressure, however. If you’d rather prepare alone—”

“No! Please!” He bursts out, and then quickly covers his mouth with his hand as if he’s shocked by his outburst. It’s rather adorable.

“Come,” I say. “Lie back on the bed.”

He complies—and holy shit, it’s _hot_ when the little cat submits. To my order. Which it most definitely was. He lies down in the middle, crawling behind me, while I shift to the bedside table. I pull out a bottle of lubricant and set it within my reach on the edge of the bed. But instead of taking off any clothes, I lean over his body and kiss him again, continuing what he started in the car.

He is breathless within a few minutes, and sooner than I expect I hear a soft, keening meow. I smile through the kiss.

“Impatient?” I slide my hands under his shirt and caress his belly, the silky fur just beneath it, and then move to his nipples. I lower my mouth to the left while gently toying with his right, startling another gasp from him.

“Rai...”

I love how responsive his body is, curling around itself to get closer to me, but I work him slowly, taking my time, extending the touch. His hands desperately pull at my shirt, yanking it off overhead while meeting my eye. His breath is fast and his chest raises and lowers quickly, and that nervous shyness he was displaying earlier slips away. He feels like putty in my fingers.

Licking back up his chest and over his collarbones, I trail soft bites and follow them with my lips and tongue. Each touch makes him melt a little further into the bed—and I realize I haven’t cared for him like this while he was awake. I love putting my scent on him—the combination of mine blended with his summery sweet fragrance is perfect. Also, he’s vocal and getting more so by the minute, which I find extraordinarily enticing. I’ve never met a cat so free with his body and pleasure. It’s both addicting and contagious, building my own pleasure from watching him enjoy himself so thoroughly.

Keeping my hands moving, caressing his skin and strip off his shirt, I reach his lips again, and he lifts up from the bed to meet me, returning my kisses softly but with passion. He’s purring loudly—and so am I—and it rumbles deep inside my body. I can almost hear that strange, magical sound underneath his purr, and it pulls at something inside my chest.

“What is that? What are you?” I whisper against his jaw and throat, making my way back down his body.

I don’t waste time when I slide my hands beneath his elastic waistband, stripping off his remaining clothes. He shivers at my touch. Feeling his skin vibrating and trembling beneath my fingers fills me with anticipation, and I meet his gaze when I move my body lower. He takes in a deep breath and looks a little hesitant. He shudders when I land a soft kiss at the tip of his erection, curling into the touch without looking away.

“Y-you d-don’t have to,” he stammers.

“I know. I want to,” I assure him.

Pressing my tongue into his slit, he drips with precum. It’s a surprisingly sweet taste. It reminds me a little of fruit. I’ve done this before—not to him, of course, but with other lovers. I’ve never minded it, but he tastes better than anyone I can remember. Combining his sweetness with the sounds he makes is more alluring than I could ever imagine.

After opening the lube and warming a little on my fingers, I reach underneath his body and spread his thighs, circling the pink, puckered flesh with a light touch. He responds in an instant, his cock jerking and leaking, even before I press inside him. I want to hear more and watch as he slowly submits to my touch and his pleasure.

He’s hot as ever inside, the silky walls contracting around my knuckles in anticipation. When I add a finger and brush across his secret swelling bundle of nerves, he meows and shudders, clenching around me. I move very slowly and carefully, watching his face—his eyes straining to stay open and focused on me, but slowly losing composure. He hums softly and starts when I wrap my lips around the head of his cock.

A sound I’ve never heard before escapes his mouth—it’s the same musical undertone, but combined with his voice. It occurs to me at that moment that the musical sound isn’t coming from his throat or vocal cords. It’s spilling from his body.

And he tastes so good—like honey—his smooth silky skin, the prominent vein running along the underside of his cock, the perfect curve of his erection—all of it, just for me. I’m so aroused by the sounds spilling from his lips and shivering across his skin that I just give in.

I swallow him down my throat as he gasps, a faint light glowing beneath his skin. It makes him shimmer in a gorgeous, golden luster. I wonder if he tans or burns, and what he might look like with blonde highlights in his hair and sun-kissed cheeks.

It isn’t long before he’s begging and pleading.

“Too soon—too much, mmm...”

But I don’t show him mercy. I know he doesn’t mean it, so I add a third finger to stretch him out, humming when he thrusts up into my mouth. One of my hands is almost all inside of him, brushing that sensitive spot, and the other pins him to the mattress while he squirms beneath me.

“Fuuuuck... ah! Mmm—‘m close! Rai—please—Rai!”

I shiver with pleasure when he clenches around me and his body goes rigid. He’s perfect when he climaxes. And gods, his release tastes sweet on my tongue, and I swallow all of it down easily. Part of me wonders why I haven’t done this to him before—and what it might be like to suck him off while he sleeps...

“Rai...” He issues a mild protest, his cock twitching from overstimulation.

I don’t mind his protest at all. In fact, I take the opportunity to deliberately brush his prostate. He lets out a yelp of pleasure and keens again.

“I can’t—I need a break—I can’t—”

“Oh, you _can_ ,” I growl softly, licking the tip of his softened dick. “You can and you _will_.”

When I climb up over him, pulling my fingers from inside his body and stripping out of my pants and underwear, he almost glares at me. His eyes are both soft and on fire, and his lips are sweetly pursed as if he’s trying to hold in an insult.

“Go ahead. Tell me what’s on your mind,” I suggest, letting my hair spill over my shoulders and brush his chest. He gasps from sensitivity.

“You’re a demanding fucker,” he murmurs before pulling me in for a kiss.

At the same time, I slowly breach his entrance with my cock. It’s been dying for some attention. I spread his muscular thighs wide, running my hands down his slender waist and out to his surprisingly wide hips. He gasps and moans in response.

“You’re gorgeous,” I reply.

When I bottom out inside of him, I give him a second to catch his breath—but only a second. Then, I pull out and slam back into him, pushing an overwhelmed, sexy sound from his lungs.

“Rai...”

I repeat the action, kissing his lips and fucking his mouth with my tongue. His body has gone soft and pliant, but I can already feel his dick stiffening. So soon? Gods, he is young and well-trained, I have to admit. I can’t think about his training while I’m doing this—it’s much too distracting and arousing. All of this he learned just for me.

“You feel so good, so warm—like you’re meant just for me.”

He huffs softly—an indignant sound—but it’s unbearably cute. In response, I purposely continue my assault on his prostate. It’s another few minutes before his overwhelmed gasps of overstimulation switch to something softer and then grow louder. His body feels extremely hot, quite suddenly—inside and out. I take in his glowing skin and let that wonderful sound seep into my ears.

He is singing.

I can hear the song and feel it. It sinks into my ears, making my fur bristle and my hair stand on end, and finds its way into my groin. It’s nearly overwhelming as it mixes with his panting, pleasured breaths. I hum in appreciation, taking his lips, again and again, marking his throat as he bares it for me.

My goal is to last long enough for him to climax a second time, so I gently start stroking his cock—a stark contrast to how roughly I am fucking into him. He moans at the touch and his body is confused. He can’t decide whether to curl into or away from the stimulation, and ends up writhing. Even his eyes drift closed—and he always fucks me with his eyes open.

“Open your eyes, kitten,” I purr, increasing my pace.

A wonderful feeling fills my body when he complies with my command. The idea of ordering this willful cat to do anything is hot in itself. But his compliance is even hotter. Although... if he disobeyed, that could also result in some equally hot consequences.

He’s moaning now, heedless of the crew I hear working outside. I love that he lets go like this—but it irritates me that the crew might be able to hear his soft song. He is definitely a Sanga. The melody reaches into my heart and soul as if dragging affection and tenderness from me without my consent. It almost feels as if the song is fucking me as hard as I am pounding into him.

“Rai—ah—please—” I love to hear him beg, too. He’s rapturous like this, ecstatic, and his cock twitches beneath my fingers.

“Come for me, kitten,” I murmur. I want to slide over the cliff into climax and yet, I don’t ever want the connection to end. I want to hear that song forever. It feels incredibly loving and possessive—and I adore it. It fills me with warmth and strange power.

“Oh gods oh gods oh gods—please please please!”

Within minutes, he comes completely undone, his body stiffening and his muscles clenching. The fur on his tail bristles beneath my fingers and he lets out something close to a scream. His action—his climax—brings me to the edge right after, and I spill hot and deep inside him as he milks me to completion.

I ride out my climax slow and deep, watching his flushed face with satisfaction. The song still overwhelms me, but it softens after his climax. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. He is the most beautiful cat I’ve ever seen or held—and he’s all mine.

Careful not to crush him or further overwhelm him with sensations—his body is shivering with pleasure, quivering wherever we touch—I lower myself down on the bed next to him. I grab a towel from the nightstand to carefully wipe his belly and chest, and also gently sweep it between his legs.

“You’re a Sanga,” I say, my voice soft.

His eyes are closed, but they crack open enough for a sliver of shimmering gold to peek through.

“I am. I am _your_ Sanga,” he whispers.

I hum in agreement.

“Groom me?” He asks, looking up at me carefully as if he is asking too much.

“Of course.” I settle myself in behind him, turning him to his side, and start on his ears. His breathing gradually gets under control and deepens as he drifts into sleep. The song fades before he falls asleep, but his purr rumbles pleasantly against me, rhythmically, in the same beat of that gorgeous song.

I lie behind him, enjoying the feel of his fur on my tongue and his scent in my nose. The soft warmth of his body soothes me with the slow swell of the yacht.


	16. Sunset Cliffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Konoe and Rai arrive to their honeymoon destination.
> 
> This chapter is mainly excuse to indulge in some consensual honeymoon sex. I’ve missed you, my darling cat boys!

**Konoe:**

Rai lets me sleep through the rest of the journey. And I am _exhausted_. I had no idea how draining it would be to sing for another person. I have practiced with my song, but this felt like I was channeling my energy to Rai. It was worth it, I think. He responded with such tender vigor that it made me forget his warning about falling in love and my ridiculous romantic notions on our wedding night. And my gods, I've _never_ had sex like that. I didn't realize I could climax twice within such a short time!

The room is dark—curtains drawn and lights out—as I struggle to open my eyes. My mouth is dry and I’m parched. I should get up and get dressed. I’m sure I’ve been asleep for hours. When the mattress suddenly dips next to me, I startle, my fur bristling. I thought I was alone, but when my husband’s wintery scent floods my nose all at once, I relax.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, kitten,” Rai purrs softly, running his claws through the fur on my tail. “I just wanted to let you know we’ve arrived.”

“Thank you,” I reply, my voice raw.

Something chilled touches my arm, and I look down. Rai is offering me a bottle of water with an unfamiliar look on his face. It’s just what I wanted.

“You’re probably thirsty. You slept for a long time. I’m sorry if I wore you out.”

“Ah, thank you.” I take the water eagerly and drink half of the bottle in one go. “And don’t worry. It will take a _lot_ more than _that_ to wear me out.” I flash him my fangs and wink at his surprise.

“I’ve come to expect no less from you.” He lands a kiss on my nose, making me blink.

I’m still naked from our earlier activities, and he starts handing me my clothes—which have been neatly folded and laid at the foot of the bed. Somehow, I can’t quite imagine this stern cat doing something so domestic for my sake. I keep looking up at his expression, trying to figure out what is different. And then it hits me. He is _smiling_. It’s not a wide smile, but it’s definitely genuine. My heart flutters in my chest and I’m glad I’ve already managed to pull on my pants. A blush fills my cheeks when I notice my dick stiffening again so soon. I really _have_ been trained well!

Once I pull on my shirt, Rai helps me with my shoes, sliding in my feet and kneeling to tie the laces. It’s startling to see him on his knees—and shockingly arousing. I swallow my lust, absolutely floored that I have _still_ not had enough. I wonder if the madam was right about my song. She said it would strengthen our bond and increase both our attraction and desire for each other. It is designed to share an emotional connection. When used over time, our emotions should flow across our bond as we get used to it. And I had _no_ idea how hot that would be.

Once my shoes are tied, Rai stands up in a fluid, graceful moment and then fusses with my hair.

“I suppose you ought to look _properly_ sexed-up,” he purrs—almost too softly to hear. “It’s the purpose of the trip after all.”

I cannot believe my ears and I struggle to keep my jaw from dropping. He pulls me to my feet and kisses the tips of both my ears.

“Shall we?”

I nod and follow him out on deck. The crew is standing there—every face blushing and averting their eyes yet still curiously staring. It’s quite probably because the sounds I made earlier were quite loud—and I was taught to be vocal in expressing my pleasure. I’ve been trained not to feel shame about sex. (And gods, I _never_ want to think about the training that was required to rid myself of that shame. It was one of the more humiliating experiences of my life.) Even still, as I meet the eyes of the crew, trying to keep my princely game face on, I can’t help feeling awkward and a little shy.

Rai doesn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he even looked a little _smug_. A small smirk on his face seems to say, “Yes, _I_ was the reason behind all that noise and it was a _raving_ success.” It’s jarring to see him so expressive. I haven’t seen much from him before now, other than his usually stern face that he reserves for me. I like this cheeky confidence and think I could get used to seeing it more.

The yacht has pulled into the dock, and it’s impossible to ignore the crowds. But these crowds sound different than the ones who saw us off. It isn’t booing. It’s still positive and cheering, but there are a lot of whistles I don’t remember hearing before. Specifically, wolf whistles. I glance at Rai, who hasn’t changed his expression, so perhaps it’s a Setsuran thing or a local custom. Maybe the crowds are wishing us happy sex? Karou is not a repressed nation, but the way a larger country views sex is probably much less traditional than what I’m used to.

I keep my royal smile in place and am glad to see Rai doesn’t lose his. But he seems more stressed than I’d prefer as we disembark. He doesn’t play to the crowd at all. It makes me wonder what on earth his people think of him. I smile pleasantly and wave, even blowing a few kisses—but Rai rushes me toward the car waiting for us. As the roped-off space narrows, I make out several phrases from people in the crowd.

“Great catch, Your Highness!”

“We’d wish you luck but you sure as hell won’t need it!”

“Wish I was you, Your Highness!”

“Nice ass, Your Grace!”

That one makes me turn my head, catching my attention. Unfortunately, it takes me by surprise and makes me stumble a step. Rai is hyper-aware of where I am in relation to him, and he effortlessly smoothes out my clumsiness with a sweep of his arm. It feels as if he is trying to protect me from something. He nearly pushes me into the car and follows right behind, telling the driver to go in a sharp voice. Once inside, his smile is replaced by a concerned expression and furrowed brow.

“Your Highness?” I ask softly. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Are you?” He sounds concerned for me in a way I haven’t heard before. It could be from the song, but this feels different.

“Of course,” I say, resting my hand on his arm. He shifts his arm, sliding his hand to capture mine, and laces my fingers through his, giving me a reassuring squeeze. “I am stunned by the enthusiasm of our subjects.”

“Yes,” he agrees, but he doesn’t say anything else. So I might as well ask directly.

“Did you hear that one guy?”

He meets my gaze but just waits. I can tell he wants me to continue by his raised brows.

“He said I have a nice ass.”

“I heard that, yes. I apologize for his rudeness, though I completely agree with the sentiment.”

An undignified giggle escapes my mouth before I can hold it back. His quickly averted eyes make his statement strangely endearing.

“Thank you, sir. Are the crowds always so... I don’t know, so _raucous_?”

“They can be,” he answers, but the answer feels elusive.

“Perhaps Karou is a more traditional country, sire,” I suggest.

When he doesn’t respond other than with a soft hum, I don’t press the issue. Plus I am mightily distracted by the sights. We’ve arrived in the gorgeous coastal town known as Sunset Cliffs. The sun is low in the sky, close to setting against the western sea, making the water shimmer in a lovely golden glow. The houses range in size and style, offering a quaint variety, with a larger downtown area south of where we will be staying. It’s a lovely romantic place—Sei did his job well.

The house we are staying in is more like a mansion. When we pull into the driveway, Rai climbs out and gives me a hand to help me out of the car. It’s a gorgeous modern house with sandy, desert landscaping in the front yard, tall palm trees circling the surrounding cliffs. I can see the ocean behind the house, so the beach must be within easy walking distance. The briny smell is light and fresh, not fishy like the dock, and the evening breeze is warm. The gulls squawk over the constant, calm white noise of the ocean waves, and my heart lifts.

“It’s gorgeous,” I breathe softly.

I’m so utterly distracted that when Rai sweeps me off my feet into his arms, I let out an embarrassing yelp. He takes long strides to the front door, which is unlocked and waiting for us. Once he crosses the threshold, he leans down and licks my ear, whispering, “Welcome home, my pretty little prince.”

He kicks the door shut behind us and carries me through the vaulted entryway into a living area. The modern decor extends to the interior. The warm gray on the walls and gentle curves of the leather furniture lend a softer look to what might be an overpoweringly minimal design. There are textured touches—distressed wood floors, silk pillows, plush throw rugs, and fuzzy blankets strategically covering the space. The entire back wall of the room—and possibly the entire back of the house—is _glass_. There’s a luxurious pool through the sliding doors that overlooks a breathtaking expanse of empty beach. To the north and south for several miles are rocky cliffs that wall off the property, not another soul or house or business in sight.

The licking of the fur on and in my ears continues and gets more demanding, sending pleasant shivers down my spine as my feet touch the floor. Before I realize what is happening, Rai has me pinned on my back against one of the gray shag throw rugs, purring and kissing me. Lust fires up my body like a freight train and the escapade on the yacht this afternoon slips from my mind. My pupils dilate, my fangs bare, and my claws draw as blood floods my lower body so fast that the lack leaves me dizzy.

“Rai,” I whisper against his lips when he pulls away to get a chance to breathe. To my left, I need only turn my head to see the ocean crashing against the pale sand down below. But I’m not thinking about the ocean right now. All I can think of is the gorgeous silver cat before me, his lips curled up in a sly smile with pearly white fangs peeking out from his lips, and his pale blue eye sparkling down at me. And maybe wanting to christen this mansion properly.

I run my claws through the thick fur on his ears and comb through his hair, digging my fingers against his scalp and tugging at the roots. The roughness of my touch earns me an honest groan that mixes in with our combined purring perfectly. He nips at my tongue and lips before trailing down my chin to my jaw and throat, his hands skating down my body as if he knows exactly how I prefer to be touched.

My body curls up against him as my lower half tries to gather friction between us. He responds by grinding down on top of me, making me spread my legs and bend my knees, letting his body settle between my thighs. He works off my shoes and socks quickly, throwing the aside playfully, tearing my shirt off overhead, and stripping my pants and underwear down in a single, breath-taking movement.

Letting my voice spill naturally, I’m shocked to feel and hear the vibration of song deep within my body. It rattles my bones and shivers through my flesh, making me gasp as I try to restrain it—to prevent it from spilling out too suddenly or frighteningly. But the way he is handling me—roughly yet so carefully and thoroughly—is pulling the song from me faster than I can release it. It’s just as the madam suspected—only much sooner than I expected. He can’t resist the song and he is doing all he can to rip it from me.

He growls in frustration when he has to pull back to tear away his clothes. Fabric, it seems, has become an unforgivable offense at the moment. His shoes fly far from where we are as he kicks them off, the sound of the sneakers squeaking against the floor across the room.

“Gods, you’re so _beautiful_ ,” he murmurs, lowering his lips to my ear. Flushing, I can’t help when my head tilts to the side, trying to escape the arousing, tickling touch to my ears as his voice invades me. “I want you.”

Then he pulls away for a moment, calming once more to catch his breath. He touches my chin gently, encouraging me to meet his gaze. I realize he is waiting for permission. He is waiting for me to consent. It makes something inside my chest squeeze tight.

“ _Please_ ,” I beg softly, doing my best to hold back the tears burning in my eyes.

My heart is throbbing in my chest and my ears, and the rhythm makes the beat of the melody. As the sun sets into the ocean behind us, spilling orange and red rays of light into the house, my song spills out, louder than I have ever heard it. My body jerks and glows and shimmers, and slim tendrils of warm white light spill from me and coil around my husband. It feels more like a physical touch as if those tendrils are extensions of my fingers and it's overwhelming. As much as he has been trying to force out my song, my song invades him in an equal and opposite reaction, stealing away his breath and restraint.

He growls and purrs, and I even hear an animalistic chitter from his throat, and it blends with the melody and the soft sounds he is pulling from me. I am doing nothing now except submitting to his touch, as his hands wander down my body to cup my ass. He presses his weight against me after spreading my legs and bending my knees, pressing my thighs flush against my chest. I cannot describe the lust that floods my body even before the heat of his cock presses up against my recently-used hole.

Yes, I am a bit sore, but the song and his urgency and his desire sweep the pain aside when he presses into me. As always, he is gentle and careful when he first enters me, and I encourage him to manhandle me a little more, grabbing two handfuls of his muscular ass and pulling him close before clamping down on the base of his tail.

A keening wail escapes my mouth when he is fully sheathed inside my body and pushes up against a pleasurable spot inside me, and he responds with another low moan. He feels so good—he finally, _finally_ feels like he _belongs_ to me. My scent mingles with his in his hair, the fact that he is so unrestrained to let his voice free captivates me.

Tears spill helplessly down my cheeks, but they are tears of joy and pleasure as his cock thrusts against my prostate. I still can't quite believe he made me come twice on the yacht, and I know I will be sore after this. But I can’t hold back my response or my desire. And while my body submits and softens for him, my muscles are working just as hard as he is when he starts thrusting in earnest. I also ghost my fingertips just below the base of his tail. I'm a little timid to touch him there, but he responds by fucking me harder and deeper.

He is observing my expression, the glittering light flickering in his eye and making it appear silver. He is breathtakingly gorgeous—and he is _mine_. He belongs to _me_. I lift my head off the ground, wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his body, giving him more room to move. I take his lips and invade his mouth with my tongue, enjoying his warmth and his sharp teeth. He returns my kisses, and while I keep my eyes half-lidded, his eye remains open wide as if taking in every inch of me.

And if he wants it, I will offer it. Everything I have—all of my body, all of my song, all my attention, all my lust and desire— _all_ of it belongs to him. And I take from him in kind. I try to absorb as much of him as I can as his heart pounds against my chest and the purr vibrates his body.

For a short, wild ride, our bodies rock together, our moans turning to gasps and sighs of pleasure. Sooner than should be physically possible, I am teetering on the precipice of orgasm. He doesn’t even have to touch my cock before I spill between our stomachs. His hands pin my hips to the floor and pinch the hooked tip of my tail as I cry out till my voice goes hoarse and my mind numbs with pleasure.

My gods—if he doesn’t come at the same time or right afterward, I’m not sure what I will do. For a moment, I am frightened when I don’t feel him spill inside of me. The prospect of overstimulation is something I know I enjoy now, but not something I want again so soon!

“Fucking _come_ ,” I order—realizing with a shock that I did indeed give him an order.

His lips twitch in amusement, his face softens, and his eye drifts closed for just a moment. When he complies with my request, a fresh bolt of heat flows up from my groin to my chest—and it’s not just from the come filling me up from below. The very idea that this man would do as I commanded—in that tone and using those words—fills me with pleasure and power so great that I feel dizzy.

Breathless, my legs slip off his waist and my arms flop down to the floor. I am panting and sweating, made even hotter when his body weight comes to rest on top of me. He smells so nice and I feel so good—brainlessly pressed into the soft rug under my back as if I might melt into a puddle. I hear a soft hitch of breath and I realize too late that I am sobbing. I try to contain myself and I cannot—and Rai meets my gaze with concern for a moment.

“Did I—I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He sounds huskier than usual, especially after so much of his own vocalization.

“Not at all,” I whisper, trying desperately to get ahold of my emotions. The clear melody fades out into utter, complete relaxation. It borders on paralysis, much to my concern. “I feel so good.”

He smiles—a wider one that rivals the friendly smile he saves for the duke. But this smile shows more fang and his eye is softer. It’s a special smile, I notice, one just for _me_. It warms me up from the inside, bristling my fur in pleasure.

Pulling away and lifting off my body, Rai seems concerned when I don’t move. He chuckles lowly.

“Are you all right? I didn’t break you, did I?”

“You’d need to do a _lot_ worse to break me,” I chirp back immediately.

“I do believe I’ll take that as a challenge, kitten,” he purrs. “Really, though. You’re not moving at all.”

“It’s the song,” I try to explain, licking my lips. My body is still thrumming with pleasure. “It takes energy from me to create the song—”

“And it’s transferred to me?” He asks, not bothering to cover the awe in his voice. “That’s _incredible_. You’re a genuine _Sanga_. I thought magic went extinct years ago.”

I try to nod but settle for a hum instead.

“Karou royalty carries a bloodline that produces a Sanga every few generations. It was a surprise when I manifested since my father is one, too. It almost always skips two generations.”

“I’ll take it. How long will you be down for the count?”

“Um, I am not sure. It hasn’t, well, it wasn’t ever so taxing when I would practice. But I always practiced alone. I have never actually sung for anyone before,” I admit, unable to hide my shyness.

“It’s _enchanting_ ,” Rai murmurs, landing kisses on my cheek and chin, then on my nose, forehead, and eyelids. “ _You_ are enchanting.”

I hum with pleasure from the gentle touch—so incredibly gentle in contrast to the way we just fucked. But while it was rough, this time didn’t have any anger behind it, either, like on the yacht. It feels _good_ —and it feels so close to what I’d expected on our wedding night. Perhaps I should have brought out my song sooner.

But I don’t have a chance to think about that when my very naked husband scoops me up into his arms and walks to the sliding door.

“Um,” I start nervously, but he interrupts me.

“No one for three miles,” he says confidently with that playful tone in his voice. “So we might as well clean up and cool off outside. Take a deep breath and hold it.” He even plugs my nose for me.

I cannot escape his arms or move even an inch when he jumps into the pool, holding me close against his chest. When he comes up for air, he is careful to lift my face out of the water, holding me securely and letting me float. The water is cool and refreshing—and it’s saltwater, a much more gentle and natural feeling on my skin and in my fur. I wish so much I could splash him or do something to get him back, but I suppose I’ll have to wait.

We watch the sunset from the dizzying edge of the glass pool, which looks as if it might drop right down into the valley below. The sea breeze in my hair and my husband’s arms wrapped around me make the show a perfect memory.


End file.
